UCSB   LIBRARY 

00 


A     COLLECTION 


POEMS, 


D.     H.     HOWARD. 


BROCKTON,     MASS., 
1879. 


OFFICE   OF   WALTHAM    FREE   PRESS. 


PREFACE. 


THE  collection  of  Poems  here  presented  to  the  public,  has 
been  made  at  the  solicitation  of  friends.  The  author  would 
have  been  glad  of  the  assistance  of  some  better  literary  judg 
ment  than  his  own,  in  the  selection  or  rejection  of  articles, 
and  for  the  correction  of  faults  which  may  have  escaped  his 
own  partial  eye.  Having  been  unable  to  enjoy  this  advantage, 
he  feels  that  he  has  some  right  to  claim  the  indulgence  and 
clemency  of  the  critic.  Although  he  has  been  encouraged  to 
think,  from  the  commendation  which  many  of  these  pieces 
have  heretofore  received,  that  they  have  some  merit  and  value, 
he  does  not  aspire  after  fame,  nor  seek  to  compete  -with  great 
names.  He  will  be  satisfied,  if  he  has  succeeded  in  giving 
some  innocent  enjoyment,  and  still  better,  instruction,  to  such 
readers  as  his  book  may  find,  and  in  winning  the  approval  of 
those  who  love  the  truth. 


A    BRIEF    SKETCH 
OF    THE    AUTHOR'S    LIFE. 


THE  Author  was  born  in  Mansfield,  Bristol  County,  Mass., 
in  the  year  1814.  His  early  childhood  was  spent  partly  in 
Norton  and  partly  in  Mansfield;  but  since  his  tenth  year,  he 
has  resided  most  of  the  time  in  North  Bridgewater,  (new 
Brockton),  Plymouth  Courty,  Mass.,  his  father's  native  place. 
He  learned  to  read  early,  and  was  fond  of  rer.ding,  but  never 
attended  school  before  the  age  of  eight  years.  Having 
attracted  some  attention  by  his  early  taste  for  poetical  compo 
sition,  he  was  assisted  to  nearly  five  years  of  gratuitous 
education,  by  Mrs.  Ann  McLean,  a  benevolent  lady  of  Boston  : 
first  under  the  care  of  the  late  Jesse  Pierce,  of  Stoughton  : 
next,  two  weeks  at  the  Boston  Latin  School,  further  progress 
being  interrupted  by  illness;  then  three  years  at  the  Mount 


A   BRIEF   SKETCH   OF  THE   AUTHOR'S   LIFE. 


Pleasant  Classical  Institution,  in  Amherst,  Mass.  Here  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  Greek,  Latin  and  French  lan 
guages,  and  a  very  little  Spanish.  To  these  he  afterwards 
added  some  knowledge  of  German,  and  still  later,  of  Hebrew. 

The  year  after  leaving  school,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  he 
entered  the  printing  office  of  William  Pierce,  in  Boston. 
About  six  months  after,  he  was  engaged  to  work  for  George 
W.  Light,  another  well  known  printer  and  publisher  in  that 
city,  in  whose  employ  he  continued  for  several  years.  It  was 
during  his  residence  here  that  he  first  met  with  the  writings 
of  Swedenborg.  His  employer  had  taken  the  library  of  a 
debtor  as  security  for  a  bad  debt;  and  among  these  books 
were  some  of  the  writings  of  Swedenborg.  Curiosity  led  the 
author  to  examine  them,  in  spite  of  the  superstitious  fear  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  entertain  for  them.  Further  reading, 
with  much  studv  and  reflection,  at  length  convinced  him  that 
they  contained  a  correct  explanation  of  the  doctrines  of 
Christianity.  In  the  year  1839,  the  author  left  the  printing 
office,  on  account  of  weak  eyes.  He  was  afterwards  employed 
in  the  printing  office  of  the  Old  Colony  Reporter,  published 
by  T.  D.  Stetson,  in  North  Bridgewater;  and  of  the  North 
Bridge  water  Gazette,  published  by  George  Phinney  in  the 
same  town.  He  also  wrote  occasionally  for  these  two  papers. 

In  1845,  tne  author  began  to  wriie  for  the  New  Jerusalem 
Magazine,  then  published  in  Boston,  and  continued  to  do  so 
from  year  to  year,  till  its  suspension  in  1872.  He  also  contrib 
uted  articles  to  the  New  Church  Children's  Magazine,  during 


A   BIUEF   SKETCH   OF   THE   AUTHOIt'S   LIFE. 


its  publication  in  Boston.  He  has  also  been  a  regular  con 
tributor  to  the  New  Jerusalem  Messenger,  since  its  establish 
ment  in  New  York,  in  1855. 

For  quite  a  number  of  years  he  has  been  too  much  of  an 
invalid  to  allow  him  to  engage  in  any  kind  of  business,  and 
has  been  for  most  of  the  time  confined  at  home  by  ill  health. 
During  this  time,  his  only  useful  occupation  has  been  the 
.small  amount  of  writing  he  was  able  to  do,  sometimes  with 
his  own  hand,  and  sometimes  by  dictation.  Having  never 
been  married,  he  has  kept  house  with  his  sister  since  the  death 
of  his  father  and  mother. 


THE    PARABLE    OF    LOVE. 

A    MARRIAGE    POEM. 


"The  blossc 
the    conjutfial 
conjoining  to 
it  ripens  like  fr 
Arcana  Ccele.st 


nnciple  enters  the  mind,  and  grladde 


>  far  it  puts  itself  forth  into  works." — Swedenborff'' 


WOULDST  thou  understand  the  reason 
Why  Love's  dear  and  blissful  season, 
Blooming  with  the  sweetest  flowers 
Ever  culled  in  earthly  bowers. 
With  a  more  celestial  glow 
Sunned,  than  other  seasons  know, 
Yields  so  soon  to  chilling  frost, 
All  its  bloom  and  beauty  lost? 
Why  the  holiest  vow  that's  spoken 
Is  so  oft,  so  rashly  broken. 
And  the  cords  that  ought  to  bind 
Heart  to  heart  and  mind  to  mind 


10  THE   PARABLE   OF   LOVE. 


In  the  fondest  union,  prove 
Chains  of  hate  instead  of  love  ? 
Learn  a  parable  set  forth 
In  the  blossoms  of  the  earth, 
In  their  beauty  half  revealing, 
In  their  bosoms  deep  concealing, 
Heavenly  secrets  for  the  eyes 
Of  the  pure  in  heart  and  wise. 

When  the  May-wind,  softly  breathing 
Through  the  budding  orchard  trees, 

Opens  every  nectared  blossom 
To  the  honey-loving  bees; 

When  the  balmv  air  is  laden 
All  around  with  sweet  perfume, 

And  the  sun  pours  golden  beauty 
Over  Nature's  bridal  bloom  ; 

Thou  may'st  wish  the  vernal  glorv 
Always  to  enchant  thine  eyes, 

Through  the  summer,  fresh  and  fragrant, 
Like  the  trees  of  Paradise. 

Fool !  to  dream  of  heaven's  fruition 
When  its  dawn  is  just  begun! 

Bread  of  Paradise  is  gathered 
Not  till  earthlv  work  is  done. 


THE    PAUAIJLE   OF   LOVE.  11 


Spring-time  bloom  is  but  the  promise 

Of  a  blessing  jet  to  come  ; 
Weary  summer  toils  await  thee, 

Ere  thou  bring  the  harvest  home. 

Soon  a  rougher  gale  will  shatter 
All  the  orchard's  blooming  show, 

And  the  snowy  petals  scatter 
Withered  on  the  ground  below. 

But  the  wonder-work  of  Nature, 

In  the  vernal  bud  begun, 
Still  goes  on  in  secret  chambers, 

Cherished  by  the  warming  sun. 

Quickly  ope  the  spring-time  blossoms  : 
Soon  their  beauty  fades  away. 

Slowly,  'mid  the  green  leaves  hiding, 
Very  slowly,  day  by  day, 

Grows  the  fruit  for  Autumn's  garners, 
Gathering  from  each  summer  shower, 

From  each  warm  and  ripening  sunbeam, 
Sweetness  for  the  harvest  hour. 

And  the  toilsome  farmer  daily 

Lends  to  Nature  kindly  aid  ; 
And  with  Autumn's  fruitful  treasure.*, 

Finds  his  care  is  well  repaid. 


12  THE   PAKABLE   OF   LOVE. 


Here  behold,  as  in  a  mirror, 

What  the  angel,  Love,  demands, 

Ere  thou  find  his  golden  fruitage 
Ripened  for  thy  Availing  hands. 

Life  hath,  like  the  year,  its  seasons  : 
Like  a  tree,  man  grows  and  bears 

In  youth's  freshness,  lovely  blossoms; 
Wisdom's  fruit  in  manhood's  years. 

Marriage  joy  is  spring-time  blooming, 
Full  of  promise,  full  of  hope  ; 

Drink  its  wine  of  heavenly  blessing, 
But  beware  thou  break  the  cup. 

And  forget  not,  in  the  dreaming 
Of  Love's  joyous  morning  hour. 

Why  he  crowns  with  purple  blossoms 
And  fresh  leaves  youth's  virgin  bower: 

Why  he  pours  the  golden  sunshine 
Into  each  dear  blossom's  heart, 

Painting  each  unfolding  petal, 
Quickening  every  inmost  part. 

Not  for  beauty's  sake  is  beauty; 

Not  to  charm  the  wondering  eye 
With  an  idle  show  of  splendor, 

Soon  to  fade  away  and  die; 


THE   1' ARABLE   OF  LOVE.  13 


But  a  token  and  a  promise 

Of  a  blessing  hid  within — 
Good  immortal,  which  the  patient 

And  the  wise  shall  find  and  win. 

Soon  the  storms  of  life  will  shatter 
Thy  fond  dreams  of  bliss  and  love, 

And  the  painted  blossoms  scatter 
Torn  and  withered  from  the  grove. 

But  behind  his  leafy  curtains, 
When  the  bloom  has  passed  away, 

Love  hides  precious  fruits  to  ripen, 
Through  the  golden  summer  day. 

Ye  whom  he  hath  called  together, 
Sealed  your  foreheads  with  his  kiss, 

Given  to  taste  the  heaven-rained  manna 
Of  his  morning  hour  of  bliss, 

lie  hath  put  the  sacred  keeping 
Of  his  treasures  in  your  care; 

Ye  must  labor  in  his  vineyard, 
If  his  blessings  ye  would  share  : 

Lest  the  gales  that  strew  the  blossoms, 
Rend  the  ripening  fruit  away; 

Lest  the  canker  worm  and  locust 
Make  it  an  untimely  prey  ; 


14  THE    PARABLE   OF   LOVE. 


Lest  a  treacherous  moth  find  entrance, 

And  its  tender  heart  devour; 
Chilling  frost  or  blasting  mildew 

Smite  it  in  an  evil  hour. 

Tremble  lest  the  harvest  morning 
Prove  you  faithless  to  your  trust; 

All  his  purple  clusters  blasted, 
All  his  wheat-sheaves  black  with  rust. 

Love  walks  hand  in  hand  with  duty. 

Wisdom  follows  in  his  train. 
Would'st  thou  know  his  wondrous  beauty? 

His  reward  dost  wish  to  gain? 

Never  let  the  present  seeming 
Cheat  thy  sense  with  gay  deceit; 

Let  not  summer's  rosy  pleasure, 
Turn  from  duty's  path  thy  feet. 

Earth  for  careful  toil  yields  blessings 
To  the  willing  hand  and  heart; 

But  the  idle  dreamer  findeth 
Only  blossoms  for  his  part. 

Costly  gifts  ask  patient  waiting; 

Golden  harvests,  weary  toil ; 
Only  they  who  bravely  conquer 

In  the  battle,  share  the  spoil. 


THE   PAUAIJLE   OF    L.OVE.  15 


Love  has  sown  within  your  bosoms 
Gardens  rich  with  plants  of  joy; 

In  your  hearts  arise  the  tempests 
That  his  vines  and  figs  destroy. 

As  the  shepherd  wages  warfare 

With  the  wolves  that  tear  his  sheep, 

As  the  farmer  with  a  thousand 
Foes  that  fly  and  foes  that  creep, 

So  shall  ye  give  battle  daily 

To  the  fiends  that  mar  and  sever 

Household  peace  and  heartfelt  union, 
Binding  soul  to  soul  forever. 

Angry  strife  and  selfish  passion, 
Cankering  envy,  stubborn  pride, 

Fiercer  beasts  than  wolves  and  tigers  ;  — 
How  can  love  with  these  abide? 

Drive  the  demons  from  your  dwelling, 
While  your  hands  are  strong  to  fight; 

Banish  from  beneath  your  roof-tree 
p]very  hateful  bird  of  night. 

In  their  places  let  fond  ring-doves 

Under  olive  garlands  play; 
While  gay  linnets  chirp  sweet  love-song; 

To  the  dawning  summer  day. 


16  THE    PARABLE    OF   LOVE. 


Shall  not  else  the  heavenly  angel 

Sadly  flee  a\vav  in  haste, 
From  the  heart  he  once  had  hallowed : 

Leave  it  dark  and  cold  and  waste? 

Nay,  entreat  him  that  he  tarry. 

Deem  no  guest  so  dear  as  he  : 
In  the  brightest  sunrise  chamber 

Let  his  place  of  resting  be. 

Scatter  India's  choicest  spices 
Where  he  lays  his  golden  head: 

Let  soft  curtains  hang  in  purple 
Folds  above  his  downy  bed. 

Wake  him  with  the  gladdest  music 
Of  the  summer  morning  grove; 

Let  no  sweet  caress  be  wanting 
To  the  evening  rest  of  Love. 

Sharon's  flocks  and  Bashan's  failings 
Furnish  dainties  for  his  meat; 

Milk  of  kine  and  comb  of  honey; 
Bread,  the  finest  of  thy  wheat. 

Wine  of  Lebanon  for  his  drinking 
Golden  goblets  shall  afford; 

Ripest  fruits  of  every  season 
Heap  upon  the  generous  board. 


THE    PAUAI5LK    OF    LOVE.  1.7 


O,  let  not  your  hands  be  weary 
With  a  single  month  of  care, 

For  the  heaven-descended  seraph 
Ye  have  bid  jour  home  to  share. 

But  with  mirth  and  sweet  discoursing, 
Welcome  and  beguile  his  stay, 

Through  the  summer's  fervid  glowing. 
Through  the  storm v  winter  dav. 

Youth  is  fleeting  like  the  blossoms  ; 

Let  not  love  with  them  depart ; 
Through  the  toils  and  cares  of  manhood 

Let  him  soothe  and  cheer  thy  heart. 

Count  no  gift  for  him  too  costlv; 

Count  no  toil  for  him  too  hard; 
'Tis  but  cheap  to  win  his  blessing, 

'Tis  but  light  for  his  reward. 

All  his  treasures  will  he  give  thee ; 

With  his  jewels  crown  thy  head; 
Heavenly  fruit  for  fading  blossoms, 

Angel's  food  for  earthly  bread. 

Fresher  roses  at  thv  portal : 

Fairer  clusters  on  thy  vine; 
Ampler  harvests  for  thanksgiving: 

Richer  oil  and  sweeter  wine. 


18  THE   PARABLE    OF   LOVE. 


Brighter  sunshine  in  thy  dwelling; 

Calmer  peace  within  thy  breast; 
Joy,  all  joys  of  earth  excelling; 

Safeguard  for  thy  midnight  rest. 

Youth  immortal,  fadeless  beauty; 

Wisdom's  gateway  opened  wide; 
No  more  asking  light  for  duty, 

Love  himself  thy  light  and  guide. 


VISIT  TO  MY  OLD  HOME. 


AGAIN  I  sought — when  years  had  passed 
Since  I  had  left  its  portals  last, — 
That  home,  so  dear,  of  childhood's  pleasures,- 
Its  woodland  paths,  its  hills  and  streams, 
Whose  pebbles  e'en  were  fancied  treasures, 
Whose  green  fields,  kingdoms,  in  its  dreams. 

Towards  the  loved  home-scene  eager  steps 
Through  the  green  wood-path  bore  me  on ; 
No  welcome  hoping  from  kind  lips, 
If  I  should  cross  the  threshold  stone, 
Since  all  who  knew  me  there  were  gone ; 


VISIT   TO    3IY    OLD    IIO3IK.  1!) 


And,  as  my  home,  I  might  no  more 
Return  within  its  ancient  door. 

The  weather-beaten  mansion  stood 
In  its  familiar  aspect  still; 
But  unknown  faces  looked  abroad, 
As  up  I  came  the  grass-grown  road, 
And  from  the  green  encircling  hill 
Was  hewn  away  its  crest  of  wood. 
Half-tilled,  and  rude  and  desolate, 
The  little  garden  round  me  lay. 
And,  all  abandoned  to  their  fate, 
The  rough  stone  walls  were  fallen  away ; 
Unpruned,  the  trees  all  wildly  tossed 
Their  long  decaying  branches  round, 
And  tall  weeds  their  rank  foliage  crossed, 
All  o'er  the  garden  ground. 

I  passed  along;  yet  not  less  dear 
The  friendly  scene,  nor  loved  I  less 
To  gaze,  and  muse  and  wander  there, 
Though  it  had  grown  a  wilderness. 

'T\vas  Autumn.     In  an  Autumn  hour 
I  last  had  bid  the  scene  adieu  ; 
But  paler  seemed  each  leaf  and  flower, 
With  the  sere  season's  fading  hue, 
And  more  unsheltered  each  old  bower, 
Than  to  my  childhood's  view; 


20  VISIT   TO   MY    OLD    IIO3IK. 


Smaller  each  rock  and  tree  had  grown — 
Narrower  each  valley  I  had  known  ; 
And  low  and  puny  looked  the  wall, 
So  formidable  once,  and  tall. 
There  stood  the  tree  where  I  had  graved 
The  frail  memorial  of  my  name, 
Yet  tottering,  as  though  scarcely  saved 
From  the  last  storm  that  o'er  it  came. 
With  almost  every  line  effaced 
Of  the  rude  carving  I  had  traced. 
There  stood  the  orchard  too,  with  green 
And  Autumn's  yellow  fruitage  crowned  ; 
Yet  traces  of  decay  were  seen 
On  every  mossy  trunk  around; 
And  here  and  there  a  feebler  one 
Among  their  stately  ranks  was  gone. 

Embowered  by  leafy  groves,  there  lay 
Green  path-worn  hills,  that  circled  wide 
Our  home,  and  reached  the  orchard  side; 
Those  pleasant  groves  were  hewn  away — 
The  hills  were  shorn  of  all  their  pride, 
And  boughs  in  dreary  heaps  were  strewn 
Where  the  sweet  wild  flowers  once  had  grown 
And  open  to  the  sunshine  wide 
The  secrets  of  the  shade  were  thrown. 

There  was  no  other  change,  save  what 


VISIT   TO   MY    OLD    IIOMK.  'Jl 


The  tireless  hand  of  Time  had  wrought, — 

A  hand  that  never  learned  to  spare, 

However  dear  its  victims  are — 

That  leaves  no  secret  shrine  unswept, 

Which  in  the  wildvvood  we  have  kept 

Sacred  to  childhood's  memory. 

Yes — there  was  one  more  change  :  the  soul 

Of  home  was  gone — all  that  had  made 

The  garden  and  the  woodland  shade 

Beloved ;  and  that  around  the  whole 

Had  thrown  that  spell  we  cannot  break; 

Which,  to  the  child,  doth  ever  make 

A  paradise  of  home — a  spot 

For  which  his  love  is  ne'er  forgot. 

The  kind  looks  and  the  pleasant  smiles 

That  made  perennial  Summer  there, 

As  tropic  suns  to  Indian  isles 

The  same  warm  glances  ever  bear — 

These  threw  their  blessed  radiance  o'er 

The  friendly  scenes  of  home  no  more. 

And,  as  the  plumage  of  the  bird 

WThere  in  the  glow  of  sunbeams  play 

A  thousand  gorgeous  hues,  doth  fade 

Soon  as  the  beams  are  turned  awav; 

So  when  the  smiles  which  once  had  thrown 

Their  happv  sunshine  there  were  gone, 

One  melancholy  tinge  came  o'er 


22  VISIT  TO   MY   OLD   HOME. 


Each  dear  spot  where  so  sweetly  played 

The  bright,  warm  tints  of  love  before, 

And  on  each  cloud  a  rainbow  made, 

That  its  calm  summer  heavens  bore. 

I  had  been  led  in  distant  ways, 

And  lovelier  vales,  and  brighter  flowers, 

And  greener  hills  and  statelier  bowers, 

Beheld,  in  glow  of  Summer's  rays, 

And  gentler  hues  of  Spring's  young  days, 

And  golden  mist  that  o'er  them  plays 

Through  the  warm  Indian  Summer  hours; 

Yet  none  could  seem  so  dear  to  me, 

However  beautiful  or  new — 

However  lovely  they  might  be 

In  the  warm  Summer's  glorious  hue, 

As  home's  old,  gray  and  moss-grown  bowers. 

Its  fields  and  its  familiar  flowers, 

That  once  I  knew  and  loved  so  well ; 

Where  every  rock  and  tree  could  tell 

Stories  of  happy  by-gone  hours. 

I  turned  me  towards  the  ancient  wood, 
That  still  in  its  green  grandeur  stood, 
Whence,  in  the  Spring,  at  even-fall 
The  whippoorwill  was  wont  to  call, 
And  even  to  wander  forth,  and  pour 
His  plaintive  song  before  our  door. 
The  feathery  brake  grew  rank  and  tall 


VISIT    TO    MY    OLD    HOME. 


Within  the  shades,  and  underneath 
Mv  feet  was  crushed  full  many  a  wreath 
Of  tangled  wild  flowers,  that  had  grown 
And  spent  their  odors  there  unknown. 
The  wood-path,  that  so  oft  had  led 
Our  feet  beneath  the  summer  shade. 
To  the  green  plav-haunts  of  our  love 
In  the  cool  coverts  of  the  grove, 
Or  guided  to  the  house  of  prayer, 
When  the  still  Sabbath  hushed  the  air, — 
Was  now  untrodden,  and  almost 
Among  the  bramble  thickets  lost. 

A  stillness  gloomier  and  more  deep 

Than  that  the  peaceful  Sabbath  gave, 

Through  those  green  places  seemed  to  sleep. 

As  though  above  the  lonely  grave 

Of  the  bright  past — the  jovous  hours — 

Life's  lovely,  faded  vernal  flowers — 

The  light  and  happy  fantasies 

Of  that  fresh  morn  when  youth  was  waking 

To  the  full  sense  of  all  that  lies 

In  beautv's  world,  upon  it  breaking 

With  all  the  glory  that  may  glow 

Upon  the  mortal  eye  below. 

With  what  a  melancholy  tone 

Came  on  mv  ear  the  wild  bird's  scream  ! 


24  VISIT    TO   MY   OLD    HOME. 


As  in  those  shades  I  stood  alone, 
And  dreamed  again  the  happy  dream 
Of  childhood's  days,  forever  gone. 
Gone!  'tis  the  dirge  of  every  joy; 
The  vain  and  mournful  echo-note 
That  on  the  passing  breeze  doth  float, 
To  mock  us  with  its  memory. 

Such  is  the  tale  of  life.     No  day 
That  dawns  upon  this  mortal  shore 
Wears  the  same  freshness  in  its  ray 
With  which  the  dawn  arose  before. 
No  Spring,  that  with  the  sun  returns, 
With  bloom  and  green  the  earth  to  strew. 
But  o'er  some  faded  beauty  mourns, 
And  flowers,  amid  sepulchral  urns, 
Are  watered  with  its  dew. 


HEAVENLY    MINISTRATIONS. 


SWEET  Hope,  that,  in  our  weary  pilgrimage, 
Dost  strew  our  way  with  roses ;  but  too  oft. 
With  thorny  roses;  yet  we  soon  forget 
The  thorns,  in  tasting  the  perfumes  they  yield. 


HEAVENLY   MINISTRATIONS. 


ROSA. 

Yet  there's  a  blossom  sweeter  yet  than  these, 
Which  wither  often  ere  'tis  noon;  but  that 
Grows  fresher  still  with  the  declining  sun, 
And  gladdens  with  enduring  loveliness, 
After  the  thousand  false,  deceitful  flowers, 
Whose  gaudy  glitter  cheats  us  for  a  while, 
Have  passed  away,  and  left  no  fruit  behind. 
It's  name's  Content;  how  happy  he  who  finds  it! 


Yet  these  two  are  not  strangers  to  each  other, 
Content  and  Hope;  for  oftentimes  they  sit 
Together,  twining  of  fresh  leaves  and  flowers, 
Garlands  of  fadeless  beauty  for  their  heads, 
Who  wait  in  patience  for  the  blessed  gifts. 
And  in  each  other's  faces,  as  they  sit, 
They  look  with  loving  smiles;  and  as  the}'  look, 
Hope  grows  more  trustful,  and  content  more  meek, 
And  more  of  heaven  beams  from  her  quiet  eyes. 

ROSA. 

True,  sister :  they  are  angels  which  God  sends, 
To  pour  sweet  balm  on  weary  hearts,  to  lighten 
The  cares  of  earth,  its  mourners  to  console, 
And  to  make  earth  itself  as  much  like  heaven 
As  mortal  hearts  can  bear  or  eyes  behold. 
4 


26  HEAVENLY  MINISTRATIONS. 


LILIAS. 

Nay,  God  hath  never  left  this  world  of  sin, 
Without  kind  angel  visitors,  whose  hands 
Were  filled  with  blessings.     He  hath  never  sent 
The  weary  and  the  sorrowing  ones  to  walk 
Through  the  dark  pathways  of  affliction's  twilight, 
Without  a  heavenly  guardian  to  stand  near, 
The  fainting  heart  to  strengthen,  and  to  bring 
Again,  with  gentlest  art,  the  wandering  thought, 
To  look  to  Him  alone  for  every  good. 

ROSA. 

There  have  been  ever  some  who  dreamed  of  angels 
Watching  o'er  those  whom  Innocence  and  Love 
Kept  tender-hearted  through  life's  stormy  day ; 
But  they  were  idle  dreamers,  in  the  view 
Of  a  cold,  faithless  world,  that  only  smiled 
A  careless  and  contemptuous  smile,  and  turned 
Its  blear  eyes  downward  on  its  wretched  heaps 
Of  baubles  and  of  perishable  dust. 

LILIAS. 

And  yet  what  heart  so  cold,  so  far  from  heaven, 
But  it  hath  sometimes  felt  the  blessed  breath 
Of  heavenly  gales,  or  hath  been  made  aware 
Of  influences  from  a  higher  sphere 
Than  that  to  which  bleak  selfishness  confines 
The  narrowed  soul?     Hath  not  the  vernal  soil, 
At  least  of  childhood,  with  those  dews  been  wet, 


HEAVENLY   MINISTRATIONS.  27 


Which  fall  in  angel-watches,  and  which  nourish 
Sweet  flowers,  that  make  us  happier,  till  the  night 
Of  Autumn  scatters  all  the  earth  with  frost? 

ROSA. 

How  soon  the  heat  exhales  the  early  dew, 

When  Summer's  sun  rides  high !     How  fast  the  chains 

Of  earth  and  sense  lock  up  the  willing  heart 

In  walls  of  adamant,  and  make  the  ear 

Too  heavy  to  be  charmed  by  angel  songs — 

The  eye  too  dim  to  look  beyond  the  clouds 

That  curtain  round  the  porticoes  of  time! 

And  heaven  itself  seems  only  as  a  dream 

Of  those  whom  bitter  disappointment  fills 

With  discontent  of  earth. 

LILIAS. 

Yet  Heaven  forsakes  not 

The  hearts  that  close  themselves  against  its  love, 
But  with  kind  ministrations  ever  seeks 
To  win  the  lost  and  wandering  back  to  life. 
And  if  the  honey-cells  of  earthly  flowers, 
It  fills  with  heavenly  nectar,  are  passed  bv 
With  stolid  carelessness,  or  worse  than  this, 
Are  turned  to  bitter  venom,  by  the  craft 
Of  sensual  malice, — does  it  shut  its  hand, 
And  leave  its  rebel  children  to  be  starved 
By  the  vile  tares  they  plant,  and  call  them  bread? 
Does  it  not  rather  lavish  out  new  gifts, 


23  HEAVENLY   MINISTRATIONS. 


And  labor  with  new  art  to  ope  the  eyes 
So  blind  to  every  blessing,  and  to  wake 
Dead  hearts  to  feel  the  warming  glow  of  Spring? 

Let  us  be  thankful  that  so  dear  a  faith 

Is  now  set  forth  as  in  the  light  of  day; 

That  the  fond  hopes,  the  dim  presentiments, 

The  inward  longings,  which  the  single-hearted 

Of  darker  ages  cherished,  are  fulfilled; 

And  the  uncertain  light  to  which  they  clung, 

As  mariners  for  guidance  to  pale  stars, 

That  glimmer  through  the  rifts  of  murky  cloud;;. 

Has  brightened  into  sunshine  glad  and  clear. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    LIFE. 


O  LIGHT  of  joy!     O  blessed  light! 
That  cheers  the  good  man's  path,  and  make* 
Earth's  lowliest,  darkest  valleys  bright 
With  heavenly  splendor  where  it  breaks  ! 
What  heartfelt  peace,  what  fearless  trust 
Are  his,  who,  guided  by  its  ray, 
Unfalteringly,  treads  the  narrow  way, 
And  finds  the  blessing  of  the  just, 


THE    LIGHT  OF   LIFE.  '2!) 


The  shining  of  a  perfect  day. 
Though  tempests  compass  him  around, 
And  spend  their  lightnings  o'er  his  head, 
The  almighty  arms  his  steps  surround, 
And  safely  through  the  storm  he's  led. 
And  then  he  sees  the  promise-bow 
Spanning  the  heavens, — the  holy  sign 
Of  mercy,  peace  and  love  divine, 
Dwelling  with  man  below. 

There  will  be  hours  in  each  one's  life, 

When  gloomy  thoughts  come  crowding  on, 

Like  phalanxes  to  martial  strife, — 

Like  clouds  before  the  morning  sun ; 

When  from  each  dear  thing  of  our  love, 

The  bright  enchantment  fades  away  ; 

And  then,  to  him  who  hath  above 

No  treasured  hope  of  brighter  day, 

How  sadly  o'er  his  gilded  sky, 

Comes  the  cold  storm-cloud,  to  destroy 

The  fleeting  summer  of  his  joy  ! 

'Tis  not  for  nought  that  God  hath  made 

A  curtain-cloud  at  times  to  fall 

Upon  that  heart,  with  withering  shade, 

That  seeks  not  in  his  love  its  all. 

'Tis  that  there  is  no  other  home 

But  under  his  protecting  hand — 


30  THE   LIGHT   OF   LIFE. 


That  those  who  from  his  care  would  roam 
Godless,  to  seek  a  dwelling  land, 
Deceive  themselves ;  to  teach  this  truth 
He  sets  before  our  eyes  the  cloud 
That  hides  the  cherished  hopes  of  youth, 
The  darkness  and  the  veil  that  shroud 
Our  loveliest  prospects,  and  make  dim 
Each  star-lamp  of  our  life,  that  ever 
Receiveth  not  its  light  from  Him. 
Thus  would  He  lead  us  to  enjoy 
That  light  which  knows  no  fading — love 
Which  grows  not  cold,  without  alloy, 
Which  comes  alone  from  Him  above. 

But  still  we  trim  our  taper  blaze, 

And  cherish  its  expiring  light, 

Unmindful  of  the  immortal  rays 

That  make  the  mountain-summits  bright, 

Nor  dream  that  our  own  shadows  throw 

The  darkness  and  the  chill  of  night 

Across  the  murky  vales  below, 

While  the  eternal  sunbeams  glow 

Undimmed  upon  the  mount  of  God, 

The  light  of  heaven,  a  quenchless  flood, 

Wrath  to  the  faithless,  blessing  to  the  good. 


HEAVENLY    WELCOME. 


)  TV  /TID  the  bell's  funereal  tolling, 
•i-  »  A     'Mid  the  weeping  of  the  mourners, 

In  the  stillness  of  the  chamber 

Where  the  white-robed  dead  was  laid, — 

Seemed  to  sound  a  joyful  anthem, 

Seemed  to  echo  the  dear  welcome 

Of  another  risen  angel, 

Passed  to  light  from  earth's  dark  shade. 

One  more  gone  to  join  the  number 
Of  the  host  of  the  redeemed  ones, 
Who  from  glad  thanksgiving  cease  not, 

Singing  His  Almighty  love, 
Who  had  bought  them,  who  had  brought  them 
To  His  house  of  many  mansions, 
Children  of  the  Marriage  Supper 

Of  the  Lamb  of  God,  above. 


32  HEAVENLY     WELCOME. 


One  more  freed  from  earthly  sorrows, 
Earthly  trials  and  temptations, 
Passed  the  gates  of  death  forever, 

Welcomed  to  an  angel's  home. 
In  the  midst  of  all  the  mourning, 
In  the  sad  funereal  stillness, 
Through  the  din  of  worldly  tumult, 

Seemed  the  blissful  peal  to  come, 

Of  the  anthem  of  her  greeting, 
Almost  caught  by  mortal  hearing, 
As  a  sweet-voiced  chorus,  blending 

With  a  lofty  organ  strain. 
We  have  lost,  but  heaven  has  won  her; 
Be  consoled,  ye  friends  that  mourn  her, 
Lost  but  for  a  little  season  ; 

Hers  is  everlasting  gain. 


ON    THE    RIGHT    HAND. 


"COME     YE     BLESSED      OF      MY      FATHER." 

COME,  from  beds  of  painful  sickness; 
Come,  from  dark  and  sorrowful  dwellings: 
Come,  from  fiery  fields  of  battle; 


ON    THE    RIGHT    HAND. 


Come,  inherit  heaven   at  last! 
Ye  who  have  on  earth  been  faithful 
Servants  of  your  Lord  and  Master, 
Come,  your  days  of  strife  are  past. 

Come,  ye  mourners  over  loved  ones 
Passed  the  gates  of  death  before  you, 
Friendless,  fatherless  and  widows, 

Lone  and  weary,  sick  and  sad ; 
He  hath  tried  your  souls  as  silver; 
From  the  dross  of  sin  hath  purged  you  : 

In  His  house  shall  make  you  glad. 

Lovers,  by  strange  fortune  driven 
Far  from  hope  and  from  each  other, 
Daily  seeking  consolation 

In  His  love  that  faileth  not; 
Come,  where  seas  no  more  shall  part  you, 
Finding  more  than  ye  have  prayed  for: 

All  your  tears  he  now  forgot 

Ye  who  labored  cheerless,  hopeless, 
Through  oppression  and  misfortune, 
Poor,  uncared  for  and  unpitied  ;  — 

Rich  alone  in  faith  and  love; 
Come,  your  earthly  toils  are  ended. 
Come,  ye  blessed  of  your  Father, 

There  is  joy  for  you  above. 
5 


34  ON   THE   RIGHT   HAND. 


All  whom  darkly,  but  in  mercy, 

He  hath  led  through  vales  of  sorrow, 

Through  temptations  great  and  fearful, - 

Come,  your  warfare  now  is  o'er. 
He  whose  word  of  truth  has  kept  you, 
Whom  ye  have  not  vainly  trusted, 

Gives  you  peace  forevermore. 

Ye  who  thirst  for  living  waters, 
Hunger  for  the  bread  of  heaven, 
Pure  in  heart  and  poor  in  spirit, 

Come,  and  find  in  God  your  rest! 
He  shall  lead  you,  He  shall  feed  you 
With  eternal  consolations; 

With  His  love  and  likeness  blest. 


VIOLET-BUDS. 


A  THOUSAND  violet  buds  lie  sleeping 
Beneath  the  withered  blades  of  grass 
And  wintry  winds,  above  them  sweeping, 
Make  mournful  music  as  they  pass. 

The  drifting  snows  of  bleak  December 
Fall  thick  and  heavy  where  they  rest; 


VIOLET-BUDS.  35 


While  we,  as  in  a  dream,  remember 
The  fields  in  green  and  beauty  dressed. 

Spring  shall  awake  the  slumbering  blossoms 
To  greet  the  sunny  skies  of  May; 

While  laughing  children  deck  their  bosoms 
With  violet-wreaths  in  happy  play. 

Beneath  the  snows  of  age  are  lying 
Fresh  violet  buds  of  love  and  hope, 

For  sun  and  breath  of  spring  time  sighing 
To  call  their  purple  blossoms  up. 

Alas!  no  earthly  spring  shall  ever 
Awake  these  Autumn  buds  to  bloom  ; 

The  evening  sun's  pale  beams  can  never 
Thaw  the  cold  ground,  so  near  the  tomb. 

The  sunshine  of  a  heavenly  morrow 
Shall  call  their  beauty  forth  to  view; 

And  their  unshadowed  leaves  shall  borrow 
A  purer  sky's  immortal  blue. 

No  bud  so  deep,  so  darkly  buried, 

But  love's  warm  beams  shall  find  their  way 
To  the  cold  prison  where  it  tarried, 

And  welcome  it  to  heavenly  day. 


HOPE  . 


THE  voice  of  Hope  is  ever  singing  : 
Silvery  voiced  Hope ! 
Her  sweet,  clear  notes  are  ever  ringing, 
To  clieer  the  drinkers  of  affliction's  cup. 
To  the  weary  she  is  bringing 
Blossoms  fresh  from  Eden's  bowers ; 
The  harp  of  gladness  newly  stringing. 
She  bids  its  music  soothe  our  twilight  hours. 
Who,  oh  who  shall  say 

That  all  her  dear  enchantments  are  delusion? 
Who  bid  us  cast  away 

Her  garlands,  gathered  from  the  rich  profusion 
Of  bloom  that  opens  in  celestial  day? 
O  welcome,  angel  Hope!  thy  blossoms  linger 
Late  on  the  Autumn  field  of  sadness; 
Doth  not  God  send  thee  to  us,  thou  sweet  singer 
Of  joy  and  gladness? 
Doth  He  not  send  thee  hither, 


HOPE.  37 


With  promises  of  blessings  kept  in  store 

For  those  who,  through  misfortune's  wintry  weather, 

With  patient  and  with  trustful  heart  endure? 

For  not  to  a  rewardless  strife 

Doth  Heaven  invite  us;  all  sincere  the  call 

To  overcome  and  share  eternal  life. 

Thy  banner,  Hope,  for  all 

To  gather  courage  from,  is  wide  outspread 

In  sunlight,  as  the  rainbow,  to  adorn 

And  cheer  life's  lowering  battle-morn, 

Even  o'er  the  lowliest,  weariest  toiler's  head. 

O  happy  they  who,  as  they  look,  behold 

Above  the  banner  starred  with  gold. 

Faith  with  her  sister  Hope  join  hands,  and  hear 

Her  words  of  heavenly  cheer  ; 

And  learn  of  her  to  tread 

With  firmer  step  the  upward  ways  that  lead 

To  blissful  dwellings,  and  with  manlier  heart, 

Of  this  life's  toils  and  woes  to  bear  their  part. 

And  they  shall  win  the  field, 

And  bear  away  the  victor's  palm,  and  know 

What  living  vigor  Virtue's  laurels  yield, — 

What  cordial  fruits  are  those  which  grow 

Upon  the  trees  that  stand 

Beside  the  paths,  on  either  hand, 

Which  lead  the  worthy  and  the  wise 

Into  her  Paradise, 

In  the  Immortal  Land. 


SONG    OF    THE    RED    LILY. 


I  AM  the  red  field  lily;  the  sky 
Of  summer  bends  o'er  me  with  deep  blue  eye : 
The  butterfly  flutters  above  my  breast, 
And  the  ground-bird  hides  by  my  side  her  nest. 

I  come  when  the  early  flowers  are  gone, 
That  the  Spring  delighted  to  look  upon; 
And  with  gayer  and  statelier  ones  than  before 
The  meadows  are  gilded  and  purpled  o'er; 
But  I  stand  in  glory  above  them  all, 
With  Summer's  crimson  coronal. 

Sweet  odors  from  many  a  flower  are  borne 
On  the  wakeful  gale  of  the  dewy  morn  ; 
The  lonely  orchis,  in  forest  shade, 
In  pictured  mantle  may  be  arrayed ; 
But  alone,  in  my  gorgeous  vesture,  I  rise, 
And  unfold  my  heart  to  the  summer  skies. 


SONG   OF  THE   RED   LILY.  39 


Ask  ye,  who  painted  my  cup  so  bright, 
With  the  richest  hues  of  the  noon-day  light? 
What  fingers  fashioned  my  graceful  stem 
To  bear  up  its  ruby  diadem  ? 
What  skill,  surpassing  all  human  power, 
My  delicate  tissues  of  leaf  and  flower, 
Has  woven  with  beauty  so  rich  and  rare, 
With  robes  of  monarchs  beyond  compare? 

'Tis  He,  ye  know,  who  maketh  for  all, 

His  sun  to  shine  and  his  rain  to  fall ; 

\Vho  feeds  the  sparrow,  and  hears  the  cry 

Of  the  humblest  creature  beneath  the  sky; 

And  will  not  He,  surely,  who  has  such  care 

For  the  flowers  of  the  field  and  the  birds  of  the  air, 

Much  more  his  mercy  and  kindness  show, 

O  faithless  children  of  men,  to  you? 


FOR    A    CLERGYMAN'S    ALBUM. 


IN  sorrow  and  affliction, 
The  messenger  of  peace 
Must  toil  to  make  the  tender  plants 
Of  good  and  truth  increase. 


40  FOR   A    CLERGYMAN'S   ALBUM. 


The  banner  of  the  Gospel 
Must  float  o'er  fortress-towers, 
And  Christian  men  must  soldiers  be 
Against  infernal  powers. 

Six  days  of  toil  and  and  battle 
Their  bravest  strength  demand, 
Before  they  find  their  Sabbath  rest 
Upon  the  promised  land. 

Be  strong  then,  and  have  courage, 
Thou  that  art  called  to  stand 
A  watchman  on  the  city  walls, 
With  weapons  in  thine  hand. 

Though  foes  without  and  foes  within 
The  heritage  assail, 
The  Word  of  truth  shall  over  all 
In  victory  prevail. 


THE    MORNING    STAR. 


SERENELY  beautiful,  the  morning  star 
Shone  through  my  window  and  proclaimed  the  day, 
It  shone  upon  my  pillow  as  I  lay. 
Morn  after  morn  I  saw  and  watched  it  there  : 


THE   MORNING   STAR.  41 


And  thought  how  quietly  it  had  looked  down 
On  all  the  tumult  and  the  strife  of  earth, 
Through  the  long  ages  since  creation's  birth, 
Nor  lost  one  jewel  from  its  radiant  crown. 

And  then  of  that  blest  star  I  thought,  whose  ray 
Guided  the  Eastern  Magi  to  the  place 
Where  humbly  lay  the  Lord  of  life  and  grace, 
Born  as  an  infant  into  earthly  day. 

But  now,  He  dwells  in  mortal  flesh  no  more ; 
The  -'man  of  sorrows"  now  is  glorified; 
And  Him,  whom  earth  a  resting  place  denied, 
As  King  and  Lord,  the  heavens  of  heavens  adore. 

He  is  their  sun;  they  see  His  glory  there, 
Unclouded  and  undimmed,  while  we  below 
See  one  bright  beam  of  the  celestial  glow 
Shining  upon  us,  as  the  morning  star. 

Arise,  O  heavenly  Morning  Star,  and  shine 
Within  my  heart,  so  cold  and  dark  and  dead; 
And  teach  my  soul,  whatever  way  I  tread, 
That  all  the  light  and  all  the  life  is  Thine. 


THE    SEED    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 


O  PRECIOUS  seed,  in  by-gone  times  so  rare  ! 
Only  by  sages  gathered  up  with  pain, 
Now  scattered  wide  for  every  soul  to  share, 
Like  the  o'erflowing  blessing  of  the  rain, 
That  waters  every  hill  and  every  plain. 

O  precious  seed  !  how  carelessly  unsought 
By  the  short-sighted  children  of  to-day! 
With  what  rich  blessings  is  the  morrow  fraught, 
For  those  who  wake  to  gather  them ;  but  they 
Slumber  the  golden  morning  hours  away. 

Seed  by  the  way-side  scattered  and  down  trod  ! 
What  bounteous  fields  of  harvest  might  have  crowned 
The  labors  of  a  faithful  hand,  when  God 
Gave  dew  and  sunshine  to  the  waiting  ground  ! 
How  fruitless  is  the  idle  summer  found ! 


THE   SEED   OF  KNOWLEDGE.  4-'$ 


Heaven's  daily  blessings  seem  too  cheap  to  prize  ; 
The  constant  light,  that  with  its  golden  shower, 
Illumes  and  blesses  our  unthinking  eyes, 
And  the  sweet  air  that  fans  us  hour  by  hour, 
And  feeds  the  thankless  breast  with  vital  power. 

So  truth  shines  out  with  such  unstinted  light, 
Our  hearts  grow  senseless  of  its  power  and  worth  ;- 
And  we  forget  how  sad  and  dark  a  night 
Time  past,  was  brooding  o'er  the  slumbering  earth, 
Ere  knowledge's  clear  water-brooks  sprang  forth. 

Yet  not  in  vain  the  sunshine  and  the  dew, — 
The  seed  in  many  a  furrow  cast  abroad ; 
Even  now,  earth  blossoms  to  angelic  view; 
And  fields  the  wise  with  patient  toil  have  trod, 
Shall  yield  rich  harvests  in  the  sight  of  God. 


HOPE    AND    SPRING. 


SPRING  and  Hope  are  sisters  dear; 
Ever  walk  they  hand  in  hand; 
When  the  sky  is  blue  and  clear, 
Go  they  singing  through  the  land, 


44  HOPE   AXD   SPRIXG. 


Weaving  of  new  leaves  and  flowers, 
Garlands  for  the  naked  bowers. 

Spring  and  Hope  together  come; 
With  the  May-day  sun  they  smile, 
In  glad  hearts  they  make  their  home  ; 
And  the  sower's  toil  beguile, 
With  the  promise  of  ripe  grain, 
When  the  Autumn  comes  again. 

Ever  welcome  guests  are  they, 

Whether  at  the  palace  gate, 

Or  the  the  cot  beside  the  way, 

With  their  precious  gifts  they  wait ; 

Making  every  bosom  glad, 

That  the  winter  storms  made  sad. 

Wide  is  opened  every  door, — 
Every  heart  to  Hope  and  Spring. 
Prince  and  peasant,  rich  and  poor, 
Share  alike  the  gifts  they  bring. 
Happy-hearted  children  play, 
Strewing  blossoms  in  their  way. 

O  that  Charity  might  be 

Such  a  welcome  guest  with  men  ! 

Every  portal  opened  free 

To  receive  the  angel  in. 

Discontent  and  want  and  woe 

Homes  and  hearts  no  more  should  know. 


'TIME  is  MONEY." 


SO  says  the  worldling,  who,  with  downcast  eye, 
Intent  upon  his  shining  heaps  of  gold, 
Counts  no  day  fortunate  that  does  not  add 
Wealth  to  his  coffers.     Thus  he  coins  his  time 
To  gold;  and  heavily  the  passing  hours 
Drop  petrified  to  lifeless  ore  beneath 
His  hands,  and  downward,  like  the  magnet,  draw 
His  beggar  heart,  which  daily  seems  to  grow 
More  earthly,  and  more  like  the  dross  he  loves. 
What  can  his  treasures  purchase?     Honor,  fame, 
Preferment,  ease  or  pleasure?     The  next  breath 
Of  air  may  waft  them  like  thin  smoke  away. 
Love,  friendship,  happiness  and  peace  of  heart? 
Nay,  these  are  all  too  far  beyond  the  reach 
Of  this  poor  world  to  give, — how  poor  to  him 
Who  asks  for  lasting  blessings  at  its  hand  ! 


40  "TIME  is  MONEY." 


But  what  is  time  to  him,  who,  while  he  walks 

The  earth,  still  breathes  the  air  of  heaven,  and  sees 

Beyond  earth's  shadowy  vale,  the  immortal  fields? 

A  passing  moment,  but  of  priceless  worth  ! 

A  fleeting  day,  in  which  to  do  the  work 

For  which  eternity  can  find  no  room — 

Which  all  eternity  can  ne'er  undo  ! 

A  day  of  Spring  in  which  to  sow  the  seed, 

Of  which  the  next  world  the  ripe  harvest  gives. 

Treasures  hath  time  more  rich  than  gold  or  gems; 

Seize  them  to-day,  or  they  are  lost  forever. 

Thou  hast  no  warrant  of  to-morrow's  gifts. 

To-day  alone  is  thine,  and  thou  art  made 

A  steward  in  it,  to  give  good  account 

Of  what  thou  doest,  when  its  sun  is  set, 

And  the  night  comes,  "in  which  no  man  can  work. 


THE    FOREST   TEMPLE. 


THE  wood-path  seemed  a  porch 
To  one  of  Nature's  temples,  wide  and  high, 
Where  underneath  the  forest's  living  arch, 
Bright  blossom-pavements  lie. 


THE   FOREST  TEMPLE.  47 


Green,  blooming  shrubs  around 
Threw  incense  of  rich  odors  on  the  air, 
Close  walling  in  the  temple's  holy  ground 

With  beauty  rich  and  rare. 

Amid  the  fragrant  bloom, 
The  ripe  blue  clusters  of  the  bilberry  hung, 
While  high  amid  the  maple's  shadowy  gloom 

The  clinging  wild  vine  swung. 

There,  through  the  leafy  aisles, 
A  rapturous  anthem  each  fresh  dawn  awakes, 
That  like  heaven's  music,  with  day's  earliest  smiles, 

The  hallowed  stillness  breaks. 

And  softer,  when  the  breeze 
Of  quiet  evening  through  the  red  sky  floats, 
The  feathered  singers,  from  the  dusky  trees, 

Send  up  their  vesper  notes. 

For  Nature's  choristers, 
In  the  wood  temples,  are  the  singing  birds, 
Whose  guileless  hymn  as  pure  devotion  stirs, 

As  solemn  chanted  words. 

Methinks  the  red  man  there 
To  the  Great  Spirit  bowed  in  solemn  awe, 
And  offered  silently  his  simple  prayer, 

And  joyous  omens  saw, 


THE    FOREST   TEMPLE. 


In  passing  of  wild  birds, 
In  playing  of  soft  lights  among  the  trees, 
Or  deemed  he  heard  the  Spirit's  answering  words, 

In  murmurs  of  the  breeze. 

O  Thou,  before  whose  sight 
The  holiest  temple  is  the  obedient  heart, 
Who  in  proud  marble  fanes  hast  no  delight, 

This  grace,  we  pray,  impart : 

That  we  may  ever  hear, 

Where'er  we  go,  thy  footsteps  and  thy  voice, 
Making  the  solitude  and  desert  drear 

To  blossom  and  rejoice. 


THE  FLOWER  GARDEN. 


THERE  are  blossoms  in  thy  garden, 
Every  summer  blooming  fair; 
But  that  they  may  grow  and  flourish, 
They  demand  thy  constant  care. 


THE   FLOWER  GARDEX.  4!) 


With  the  first  spring  bud's  unfolding 
Must  thy  cares  and  toils  begin  ; 

Not  to  cease  till  Autumn's  latest 
Blossoms  all  are  gathered  in. 

But  I  know  of  flowers  more  lovely 
Than  the  fairest  ones  which  grow, 

Soon  to  die,  in  earthly  gardens  : 
Bright  immortal  flowers  I  know. 

Flowers  of  Goodness,  Truth  and  Virtue: 
Plant  them  in  thy  choicest  ground; 

In  the  garden  of  thv  spirit 
Let  no  baneful  weed  be  found. 

Labor  for  these  tender  nurslings 
Of  a  heavenly  soil  and  clime. 

They  demand  more  watchful  culture 
Than  the  plants  of  earth  and  time. 

All  thy  spring-time,  all  the  summer 
Of  thy  life,  they  ask  thy  guard. 

In  thy  ripe  and  golden  Autumn, 
They  will  give  their  rich  reward. 

Thev  will  give  their  hallowed  sweetness, 
When  thy  earthly  joys  are  fled  ; 

Clustering  in  immortal  garlands 
Round  the  Christian's  dying  bed. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  GARDEN. 


THE  Christian  man  hath  a  garden 
Of  beauty  wondrous  and  rare; 
There  are  bright  and  fragrant  blossoms, 
And  fruit-trees  "Teen  and  fair. 

There  is  Love  with  her  fadeless  roses, 
And  Faith,  that  each  morn  looks  up 

The  rising  sun  to  welcome, 
With  her  fresh  and  dewy  cup. 

There  is  Truth,  pure,  white  and  spotless, 
And  Hope,  that  with  open  eye 

Looks  upward  through  storm  and  winter, 
Cheerfully,  trustfully. 

There  is  Charity,  ever  radiant 

With  Summer's  sunny  glow, 
And  Mercy,  sweet  flower  of  heaven, 

Blossoming  here  below. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  GARDEX.  ol 


There  is  Patience,  that  long  endureth, 

And  Pity,  with  pearly  tear, 
While  Joy  crowns  with  smiling  garlands 

Each  season  of  the  vear. 

The  Lord,  the  heavenly  Sower, 
Hath  planted  this  garden  fair, 

And  His  love  still  watches  o'er  it, 
With  tender  and  constant  care. 

The  sun  of  heaven  doth  cherish 
With  its  kindly  heat  and  light, 

Each  tree  of  the  Father's  planting, 
Each  blossom  of  beauty  bright. 

The  Vine  hangs  with  purple  clusters, 
The  Fig  tree  its  sweetness  gives, 

The  Olive  with  green  and  fatness 
On  every  hill-top  thrives. 

There  is  fruit  for  the  soul  that  hungers, 

And  longs  to  be  daily  fed 
With  manna,  like  the  angels, 

With  true  and  living  bread. 

The  Lord  such  a  garden  giveth 
To  his  servants  to  keep  and  till, 

That  they  therein  may  labor 
Daily  to  do  his  will. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  GARDEN. 


He  planteth,  but  they  must  water; 

A  servant's  part  is  theirs, 
Faithful  to  guard  and  keep  it, 

If  they  would  hereafter  be  heirs. 


THE  NEW  JERUSALEM. 


BEHOLD  the  heavenly  city  stand, 
High  on  a  mount,  in  noonday  light, 
With  blessings  filled  from  God's  right  hand, 
Walled  in  with  jasper,  clear  and  bright. 

Wide  open  stand  its  pearly  gates, 
Inviting  all  to  enter  in, 
To  tread  with  joy  its  golden  streets, 
And  wisdom's  starry  crown  to  win. 

There  flows  the  eternal  river,  clear 
As  crystal  from  the  throne  of  God  ; 
There  trees  with  healing  leaves  appear, 
And  heavenly  fruits  for  angel's  food. 

But  who  are  they  whose  happy  feet 

On  Zion's  hill  shall  stand  secure? 

They  in  whose  mouths  is  no  deceit; 

Whose  hands  are  clean,  whose  hearts  are  pure. 


THE   NEW  JERUSALEM.  53 


These  are  the  blessed  who  shall  be 
Like  fruitful  trees  by  living  streams; 
And  such  shall  dwell,  O  Lord,  with  thee, 
Where  thy  eternal  sunlight  beams. 


THE  MOURNER'S  HOPE. 


IF  it  were  now  instead  of  long  ago, 
For  the  first  time  proclaimed,  that  those  who  die 
Shall  rise  again  to  immortality, — 
If,  like  an  unexpected  morning  glow 
Breaking  the  darkness  of  a  hopeless  night, 
The  joyful  news  of  life  beyond  the  tomb, 
Brought  by  some  heavenly  messenger,  had  come, — 
How  soon  might  Sorrow's  downcast  eye  grow  bright, 
The  heavy  heart  grow  light, 

That  mourned  for  dear  and  lost  ones,  as  the  day 
Drives  the  cold  twilight  shadows  far  away. 

And  is  it  now  so  long 

Since  the  glad  promise  woke  the  ear  of  Faith, 

Of  better  life  beyond  the  gates  of  death, 

That  like  an  old,  almost  forgotten  song, 

It  cheers  no  longer?  for  we  mourn  as  though 

Our  faith  itself  were  dead, 

As  though  dear  hopes  had  fled, 

And  left  our  souls  to  vain  regret  and  wee. 


54  THE  MOURNER'S  HOPE. 


You  say,  Our  eyes  are  dim ; 
We  cannot  see  so  far. 
Gone, — and  we  know  not  where ! 
We  can  but  weep  for  him  ! 

Mourn  then  ;  but  let  your  grief 

Be  tempered  with  belief 

In  what  we  cannot  see  with  mortal  eyes  ; 

Trust  in  the  tender  love 

Of  Him  who  rules  above, 

All-merciful,  Almighty,  and  All-wise; 

With  faith  in  him  who  gave 

His  life  our  lives  to  save, 

Who  calls  the  sleeping  dead,  and  they  arise, 

And  brings  his  children  home 

Through  the  gateway  of  the  tomb 

Into  the  gladness  of  his  Paradise. 


BUDS. 


BUDS  to  garland  infant  foreheads, 
Crimson  leaf-tips  peeping  through  ! 
New  blown  roses,  fair  and  fragrant, 

In  the  path  of  childhood  strew ! 
Blushing  roses,  brightly  jeweled 
With  the  freshest  morning  dew. 


BUDS.  00 


Ah,  how  soon  the  fires  of  passion 
Wither  up  the  youthful  bloom  ! 

Ah,  how  oft  the  sunny  morning 
Changes  to  a  night  of  gloom! 

And  the  lovely  head  of  beauty 
Sinks  to  an  unworthy  tomb. 

Plant  ye  deep  in  spring-time  furrows 
Love's  and  truth's  immortal  seed. 

Give  ye,  through  the  weary  Summer, 
Rain  of  tears  and  patient  heed! 

So  in  Autumn  ye  may  gather 
Ripe  and  blessed  fruit  indeed. 


THE    LEAVES    AND    THE    BLOSSOMS. 

SUGGESTED      BY      ONE     OF     RICHTER'S      GERMAN      "PARABLES. 

JOYOUSLY  the  light  of  May  was  glowing 
J  On  the  fresh  and  tender  budding  foliage, 
Bathing  all  the  forest  in  the  glory 

Of  the  Spring's  delightful,  rosy  morning. 
With  the  apple  blooms  the  winds  were  playing, 
Shaking  to  the  ground  a  fragrant  shower 
Now  and  then,  that  whitened  all  the  greensward. 
By  the  blooming  orchard  passed  the  poet; 
And  it  seemed  to  him  the  wanton  zephyrs 


56  THE   LEAVES   AND   THE   BLOSSOMS. 


Laughed  to  see  the  mimic  snow-storm  blowing 
From  the  apple  trees;  and  as  he  listened, 
With  his  bosom  full  of  spring-time  gladness, 
Thus,  so  seemed  it,  to  the  falling  blossoms, 
Spake  the  firm  green  leaves  with  exultation : 

Ye  vain  and  gaudy  blossoms, 
How  quick  ye  fade  away ! 
While  we  grow  greener,  brighter  still 
Through  all  the  summer  day. 

And  when  the  frosted  Autumn 
Her  spell  around  us  throws, 
Long  after  ve  have  passed  away — 
How  bright  our  vesture  glows  ! 

Thus  spake  the  leaves  in  Spring-time; 
And  thus  replied  the  flowers  : 
We  wish  not  to  remain,  and  deck 
\Vith  you  the  summer  bowers  ; 

For  we  have  gifts  more  precious 
On  Autumn  to  bestow, 
Than  all  the  purple  and  the  gold 
Of  your  decaying  show. 

Hidden  within  our  bosoms 
The  costly  fruit  is  born  ; 
So,  though  w*e  perish  quick  away, 
O  treat  us  not  with  scorn  ! 


THE    LEAVES   AND    THE    BLOSSOMS. 


For  ye  shall  shortly  wither 

Before  the  Autumnal  blast, 
And  on  the  forest's  frosted  floor 

In  ruined  heaps  be  cast : 

And  they  who  pluck  our  fruits,  shall  tread 

Your  scattered  ruins  o'er, 
And  while  they  bless  God  for  the  flowers, 

Shall  think  of  you  no  more. 


CONSOLATION. 


I  KNOW  the  darkness  will  not  always  last ; 
That  soon  or  late  will  glow  the  crimson  dawn  : 
Earth  shall  not  be  forever  frozen  fast, 

And  Winter's  snow  will  bv  and  by  be  gone. 

I  know  that  howsoever  angrily 

The  storm  may  rage,  a  calm  will  some  time  come: 
And  the  worn  mariner,  weary  of  the  sea, 

Shall  reach  at  length  his  haven  and  his  home. 

And  so  I  trust,  and  feel  myself  assured, 

The  woes  and  sorrows  which  oppress  to-day, 

However  long  and  heavily  endured, 

Shall  by  and  by  grow  light  and  pass  away. 


58  CONSOLATION. 


I  know  our  loving  Father  cannot  mean 

That  we  should  suffer  with  no  good  in  view. 

What  though  the  good  be  far  off  and  unseen  ? 
The  Lord  hath  promised  it :  his  word  is  true. 

He  that  hath  smitten  us  will  bind  us  up  : 

Will  feed  the  souls  that  hunger  for  his  bread; 

Will  fill  for  us  the  emptied  bitter  cup 

With  heavenly  wine;  anoint  the  downcast  head 

With  oil  of  joy  for  mourning.     He  will  give 
Beauty  for  ashes,  songs  of  praise  for  sorrow; 

And  raise  us  from  the  dead,  that  we  may  live 
And  bless  His  name,  in  heaven's  eternal  morrow. 


LEARNING  AND  LIFE. 

Read  at  a  reunion  of  the  former  pupils  of  the  Mount  Pleasant  Classical  In 
stitution,  at  Amherst,  August,  1847,  fifteen  years  after  the  closing  of  the 
school. 

"IT  J  HEN  towards  the  coming  years  we  turn  our  eyes, 
V  V       In  youth's  fresh  morning,  brightly  stretches  out, 
Beyond  our  farthest  view,  a  blooming  path, 
Inviting  us  to  tread  its  hopeful  way. 
But  when  the  road  is  travelled,  and  the  gay 
Illusions  have  passed  by,  how  short,  how  vain, 
Appear  the  hasty  years !  what  few  results 


LEAKXIXG    AXD    LIFE. 


Of  solid  and  enduring  good  remain  ! 
And  over  time  misspent  we  sigh,  and  say, 
Alas,  the  vanity  of  human  life  ! 

We  grow  not  wise  at  once.     As  far  below 
Its  real  worth,  our  disappointed  hearts 
View  the  lamented  past,  as  we  before 
Had  overrated  its  prospective  good. 
But  would'st  thou  learn  how  little  to  expect 
From  the  short-sighted  labors  of  a  day, — 
Look  up — behold  the  orbs  of  heaven,  that  wheel 
With  tireless  flight  in  wondrous  circles  round, 
And,  if  thy  intellect  can  bear  the  task, 
Labor  to  comprehend  the  mighty  plan  : 
And  then  look  back  upon  our  little  globe, 
Whose  years  are  but  as  moments,  when  compared 
With  stellar  orbits — whose  wide  spreading  fields, 
And  wider  oceans,  are  as  viewless  specks 
In  the  broad  regions  of  celestial  space. 

But  vet  another  prospect  must  be  scanned, 
Ere  we  have  learned  to  weigh  in  equal  scales 
At  once  the  greatness  and  the  littleness 
Of  human  nature  and  of  human  life. 
If  thou  the  value  of  thy  life  compute 
Alone  by  what  to-day  appears,  thou  must 
Misjudge  it.     'Tis  but  seed-time  with  thee  now — 
At  most,  the  springing  of  the  summer  blade  : 


60  LEARNING   AND    LIFE. 


Thy  harvest  an  eternal  morrow  is. 

Wondrous  as  that  bright  alphabet  of  stars 

Appears,  in  which  our  nothingness  we  read, 

Its  glory  fades  to  night,  its  gold  is  dust, 

Viewed  from  the  world  on  which  that  morrow  breaks 

And  yet  the  glory  of  that  world  is  thine ; 

And  we  shall  wake  and  find  ourselves  a  part 

Of  that  immortal  universe,  whose  cycles 

Time  hath  no  measure  to  compute,  nor  space 

A  line  its  boundaries  to  circumscribe. 

Thus  with  a  double  aspect  doth  our  life 
Appear  in  Wisdom's  eye ;  and  thus  doth  He 
Who  made  us,  first  with  prodigies  of  power 
O'ervvhelm  us  in  humility,  that  He 
May  safely  afterwards  make  known  how  great 
The  blessing  that  awaits  the  humble  heart. 

Our  years  of  studentship,  we  say,  are  past; 
But  we  are  learners  still.     The  world  itself 
Is  but  a  school,  where  every  day  are  set 
Before  our  eyes  new  lessons  to  be  learned, 
New  tasks  appointed  for  our  hands  to  try. 
We  all  are  teachers  too ;  and,  well  or  ill, 
We  give  out  lessons  which  our  neighbors  learn. 
Each  silent  deed  with  eloquent  tongue  persuades ; 
Example  preaches  oft  with  more  success 
Than  all  who  stand  in  pulpits,  and  proclaim 


LKAKNTXG   AXD    LIFE.  01 


Truths  little  practised,  and — perchance — forgot 

By  priest  and  hearer  both,  by  Sabbath  eve. 

We  may  grow  wiser  daily,  if  we  will : 

We  may  stand  fools  upon  the  yery  top 

Of  Science's  hill;  and  die  like  those  who  starve. 

Laden  with  gold  and  gems,  in  desert  lands. 

The  skill  to  learn,  the  wisdom  well  to  use, 
Not  always  meet.     The  wisest  ones  are  oft 
The  most  profoundly  ignorant  of  what 
The  world  calls  wisdom,  and  of  that  for  which 
The  schools  grant  honors,  titles  and  degrees. 
Then  let  us  hear,  as  down  the  rapid  stream 
Of  Time,  we  float,  the  sweet  but  earnest  song 
The  angel  of  our  life  sings  as  we  go, 
While  pointing  to  the  landmarks  on  our  way, 
Warning  us  that  amid  the  varied  charms 
Which  Nature,  Learning,  Science,  Truth,  afford, 
We  seek  our  wisdom  in  this  noblest  truth, 
That  without  love  to  Him  who  gives  them  all, 
And  love  to  man  our  brother,  all  is  vain 
That  we  have  learned,  or  done,  or  yet  shall  do. 


THE  OLD  ORCHARD. 


TREES  whose  green  and  blossom 
Cheered  my  childhood's  eye; 
In  whose  cooling  shadows, 
When  the  sun  was  high, 
Playful  toil  beguiled  me 

Through  the  summer  hours, 
Once  again  I  greet  you, 
Old  and  friendly  bowers. 

Here  the  sweetest  music 

Of  the  rnatin  bird, 
At  the  early  coming 

Of  the  spring  was  heard  ; 
Here  the  loveliest  blossoms 

Field  or  forest  knew, 
Bathed  their  tender  leaflets 

In  the  summer  dew. 

And  the  yellow  autumn 
Here  before  us  spread 


THE    OLD    OKCHAED.  63 


Pier  delicious  treasures, 
As,  with  rustling  tread, 

Came  she  by  with  garlands 
Of  the  vine  and  sheaf, 

And  entwined  her  tresses 
With  the  last  green  leaf: 

Though  a  tone  of  sadness 

All  our  joy  came  o'er, 
As  red  leaves  were  mingled 

With  the  golden  store; 
And  the  frosty  winter 

Followed  in  her  train, 
And  his  snow-flakes  scattered 

Where  her  fruits  had  lain. 

Venerable  orchard ! 

Verse  delights  to  tell, 
In  thy  green  recesses 

What  sweet  memories  dwell 
Like  the  birds,  that  fondly 

To  thy  cool  retreat 
Cling  for  kindly  shelter 

From  the  summer  heat. 

O  how  many  like  us, 

Thy  green  shades  beneath, 


64  THE   OLD   ORCHARD. 


Have  of  Hope's  gay  blossoms 
Twined  the  smiling  wreath, 

And  delighted  hung  it 
On  some  friendly  bough, 

But  to  see  it  shattered 
Bj  the  storm,  ere  now  ! 

Be  it  so ;  all  scattered 

Childhood's  gathered  flowers ; 
Leafless,  torn,  uprooted, 

All  its  greenest  bowers ; 
Nay,  its  friends  departed, 

Dearest,  kindest,  best, 
In  whose  happy  presence 

Our  young  hearts  were  blest. 

Grieve  not  at  their  passing; 

Look  not  wistful  back 
From  thy  manhood's  prospects, 

To  the  narrow  track, 
Worn  by  childish  footsteps  : 

Idly  shalt  thou  there 
Shrines  of  joys  departed 

Labor  to  repair. 

Pleasures  glow  and  vanish 
As  the  seasons  wane; 


T1IK    OLD    OKCHAKD.  05 


Joys,  earth-born,  like  flowers, 
Earthward  turn  again  : 

Think  not  to  retain  them 
With  a  miser's  hand  : 

All  their  gold  shall  moulder 
In  thy  grasp  to  sand. 

Yet  know  well,  one  sunbeam 

Ne'er  is  taken  away 
From  the  glowing  noontide 

Of  thy  summer  daj% 
But  to  gild  the  morrow 

With  a  happier  light : 
Rest  then,  calm  and  trustful 

Through  the  storm v  night. 


MY  INHERITANCE. 


A  SCANTY  bit  of  barren    soil, 
Profuse  alone  of  useless  weeds, 
Is  all  the  ground  where  I  must  toil, 
To  plant  and  gather  heavenly  seeds. 
God  grant  me,  hoping,  not  in  vain, 
His  blessed  sunshine  and  his  rain. 


66  MY     INHERITANCE. 


God  grant  me  strength  and  patience  still, 

To  labor  in  my  narrow  field. 

With  patient  doing  of  His  will, 

The  poorest  ground  some  fruit  may  yield. 

And  one  ripe  grain  of  wheat  is  more 

To  Him  than  Sodom's  wealthiest  store. 

Shall  I  my  single  talent  hide, 

And  leave  my  heritage  to  waste, 

Because  it  is  not  rich  and  wide, 

And  under  tropic  sunshine  placed  ? 

And  when  my  Lord  his  tithes  shall  claim, 

How  can  I  bear  the  idler's  shame? 

No.  let  me  not  complain  how  small 
My  portion,  but  how  little  good 
My  weariest  summer's  work  could  call 
Out  of  the  ground  I  ploughed  and  hoed. 
Alas  !  with  barrenness  and  drought, 
And  frost,  I  almost  vainly  fought. 

I  dream  of  gardens  broad  and  fair, 
With  manj'  a  lovely  blossom  sown. 
A  few  frail  plants  exhaust  my  care; 
The  rest  is  all  with  weeds  o'ergrown. 
Farewell,  vain  dreams!     It  now  remains 
To  cull  my  few  ripe  harvest  grains. 


MY    INHERITANCE.  67 


How  scant  the  store !  yet  strange  to  tell, 
My  board  is  still  with  bounty  spread. 
Always,  by  some  kind  miracle, 
Are  multiplied  my  loaves  of  bread  ; 
My  homely  water  turned  to  wine. 
Thanks  for  the  blessing,  all  divine! 


TRUE     LIFE. 


THE  more  thou  puttest  in  the  Lord  thy  trust, 
The  stronger  shall  thine  arm  for  service  be : 
When  thou  rememberest  that  thou  art  but  dust, 
Then  first  awakes  a  living  soul  in  thee. 

When  thou  canst  say,  O  Lord,  thy  will  be  done, 
Then  shall  thy  arm  grow  strong  for  truth  and  right: 

Wrhen  thou  despairest,  thou  hast  first  begun 
To  learn  from  whence  the  feeble  heart  hath  might. 

When  thou  hast  gained  a  victory  o'er  a  foe, 
I  last  prayed  in  fear  for  storms  to  break  away, 

Then  first  the  peace  of  angels  shalt  thou  know, 
Shalt  feel  how  sweet  is  heaven's  unclouded  dav. 

When  thou  with  cheerful  zeal  for  virtue's  part, 
Enchanting  Pleasure's  rose-path  shall  forsake, 

Then  first  true  jov  shall  warm  and  bless  thy  heart. 
And  heavenly  blossoms  by  thy  side  awake. 


68  TRUE     LIFE. 


When  with  unfaltering  courage  thou  hast  sought 
On  duty's  battle-field  thy  prize  to  win, 

And,  in  thy  self-forgetfulness,  hast  thought 
The  world  too  little  to  be  gained  by  sin, 

Then  hast  thou  first  grown  master  of  thyself — 
Thy  meaner  self  hast  conquered  ;  and  shalt  find 

That  thou  hast  well  disdained  the  slavish  pelf. 
Of  the  base  kingdom  thou  hast  left  behind. 


THE  WORSHIP  OF  LIFE. 


I  SAW  a  way  ascending,  where  bright  hills 
Serene  and  beautiful,  lay  far  above 
The  snowy  mountain-tops  of  earth,  that  pierced 
The  cloudless  ether.     Thither  went  I  up, 
Till  on  the  summit  of  the  hills  I  stood, 
In  their  pure  atmosphere,  as  on  the  pavement 
Of  the  great  temple  of  the  universe. 
Of  whose  sublime  and  thousand-pillared  dome. 
The  azure  canopy  that  curtains  earth 
Is  but  a  single  arch.     As  there  I  stood, 
A  strain  of  melody  entranced  my  ears, 
Like  a  deep  organ-peal  of  lofty  tone, 
Whose  bass  was  as  the  rolling  thunder's  voice. 


TJIK    WORSHIP    OF    LIFE. 


Vet  calm  as  mightv,  and  serene  as  deep: 

Filled  up  with  sweet  and  wondrous  harmonies. 

As  though  the  voices  of  all  ocean's  waves, 

Were  joined  with  all  the  voices  which  the  wind 

Brings  from  each  mighty  thing  that  bears  its  blast 

With  giant  firmness,  and  each  fragile  thing 

That  bends  before  its  gentlest  whisperings. 

With  such  profound  solemnity  that  psalm 

Its  mighty  and  o'erpowering  cadence  swelled, 

Yet  with  such  gentleness  and  sweetness  filled. 

Inspiring  calmest  peace  and  henvenly  trust, 

I  could  but  kneel  in  adoration  deep; 

And  though  I  saw  no  living  creature   near. 

I  felt  as  though  the  universe  of  life 

U'ere  present,  joined  with  me  in  worship  there. 

Surely,  thought  I,  some  seraph  choir   is  near 

Who  celebrare  their  Sabbath  here  unseen. 

As  thus  1  listened,  on  mv  vision  came, 
As  in  a  living  picture,  earth's  fair  fields. 
Subdued  to  man's  dominion,    and   replete 
With  all  the  activity  of  busy  life. 
There  all  the  elements  of  nature  toiled 
Ceaseless  for  man,  his  tributaries  all, 
To  drive  his  wheels,  his  spindles  and  his  looms. 
To  forge  his  shafts,  and  over  sea  and   land 
His  burdens  and  his  messages  to  bear. 


70  THE   WORSHIP   OF   LIFE. 


There  issued  forth  the  ploughman  with  his  plough. 

That  cleft  with  heavy  sound  the  fertile  sod ; 

Down  at  the  mower's  feet  the  whistling  scythe 

Laid  low  the  blooming  burden  of  the  field, 

While  creaking  wains  conveyed  the  treasure  home. 

There  rose  the  vintage  shout  and  harvest  song; 

Nor  wanting  was  the  lowing  of  the  herd, 

And  bleat  of  flocks,  and  each  sweet  rural  sound. 

In  forest  deep  the  woodman's  hearty  stroke 

Loud  echoed;  while  the  quarry  and  the  mine 

With  din  of  labor  sent  their  treasures  forth. 

The  smith  incessantly  his  anvil  beat, 

While  saws  and  hammers  with  tumultuous  strife 

Resounded,  as  the  builders  labored  on 

To  rear  up  cities,  where  the  pulse  of  life 

Beats  more  intensely,  and  the  willing  hand 

Find  largest  scope  to  scatter  blessings  round. 

There  to  the  wave  of  living  sound  were  joined 

The  carol  of  the  boatman  at  his  oar, 

And  sailor's  shout,  as  with  his  brawny  arm 

He  lifts  the  anchor,  and  unfurls  the  sail, 

That  speeds  the  wealth  of  nations  o'er  the  breast 

Of  ocean,  gathered  from  remotest  shores. 

All  these  with  every  sound  of  human  joy 

And  hope,  and  every  tone  that  nature  breathes 

From  her  sweet  instruments,  together  rose 

To  swell  that  anthem  of  sublimest  praise. 


THE    WOKSIIIP    OF    LIFE. 


All  in  one  harmony  can  Love  combine, 
Because  one  blessing  is  within  them  all ; 

And  their  rude  jar  to  melody  refine, 
As  it  ascends  011  angel's  ears  to  fall. 

Man  hears  indeed  but  discord,  when  his  heart 
Is  closed  by  selfish  passions  to  the  flow 

Of  those  pure  influences  which  impart 
To  all  his  being  warm  affection's  glow; 

Hut  when  he  opens  the  soul's  inner  doors, 

•Heaven  breathes  upon  him,  and  attunes  his  ear, 

To  hear  the  harmonies  which  love  restores, 

As  from  their  homes  of  peace  the  angels  hear: 

The  mere  material  sound  forgotten  quite, 

In  presence  of  that  spirit  which  displays 
This  truth  before  him  in  celestial  light, — 

Use  to  the  neighbor  is  God's  highest  praise. 

Love  in  its  bosom  doth  all  blessings  bear; 

Worship  without  it  is  a  lifeless  thing; 
The  breath  of  charity  alone  is  praver, 

Lifting  the  soul  from  earth  on  hallowed  wing. 

As  from  this  high  communion  man  descends, 
And  to  perform  his  daily  duty  goes, 

Still  with  his  inner  thoughts  that  chorus  blends, 
Which  on  his  spirit's  ear  so  sweetlv  rose. 


72  THE   WORSHIP   OF   LIFE. 


The  brotherhood  of  labor  he  esteems 

No  servile  bondage,  which  he  fain  would  break, 
But  rather  like  a  golden  chain  it  seems, 

To  bind  all  hearts  in  concord,  and  to  make 

All  hands  subservient  to  one  common  cause, 
With  heaven  co-workers,  in  a  lower  sphere; 

Yet  guided  by  the  same  eternal  laws, 
That  heaven  may  have  its  earthly  pattern  here. 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  SPRING. 


ONCE  more  the  glorious  miracle  is  done, 
And  all  the  naked  winter  woods  stand  forth 
In  robes  of  tender  green,  and  all  the  fields 
Flourish  with  herbage  and  rejoice  in  bloom. 
How  great  the  miracle,  if  ne'er  but  once 
In  all  the  ages,  Spring  had  garnished  earth 
With  such  magnificence  of  beauty,  spread 
So  lavishly  abroad  in  all  her  realm  ! 
How  happy  should  we  deem  the  eyes  of  those 
Who  lived  to  see  the  glory  in  their  day! 
And  is  it  less  a  miracle,  that  now 
We  see  it  every  year  renewed  before  us? 
And  is  it  less  divine,  because  it  grows 


THE   MIRACLE     OF   SPRING.  73 


A  thing  so  common,  that  unthinking  hearts 
Cease  to  admire  the  beauty,  and  forget, 
Or  never  learn,  that  He  whose  Word  of  power 
At  first  created  earth  and  called  it  good, 
Daily  creates  and  blesses  it  anew. 


A  VISION   OF  HOPE. 


BEYOND  the   deep,  black  river,    which  vessel  has  never 
passed, 
High  over  the  rock-ribbed  mountains,  which  the  strength  of 

the  Lord  sets  fast, 

I  see  a  beautiful  country,  with  youth  and  love  aglow, 
Where  comes  no  cold  nor  winter;  where  gathers  no  frost  nor 
snow. 

And  they  that  have  gone  before  us,  a  host  that  no  tongue  can 

count, 
Stand    in    white  robes   and   beckon   to   us   from   the  shining 

mount. 
They  bid  us  be  brave ^and  faithful,  could  we  but  their  voices 

hear; 
They  bid  us  endure  with  patience,  till  the  day  of  release  draws 

near. 

Kind  friends,  dear  brothers  and  sisters,  sweet  hope  expects  to 

meet, 


74  A   VISION  OF  HOPE. 


Among  the  ransomed  millions,  that  dwell  on  the  golden  street : 
Friends  for  and  with  whom  I  may  labor,  with  service  however 

small, 
So  we  may  be  brought  still  nearer  the  Lord,  who  does  good 

to  all. 

And  one  who  is  more  than  sister,   one   who  is   more  than 

friend, 

Waits  there  to  bid  me  welcome,  her  life  with  my  own  to  blend  ; 
With  helpful  hands  for  each  other  a  paradise  to  make; 
With  joyful  hearts  for  each  other  the  burden  of  love  to  take. 

An  end  to  the  restless  warfare,  an  end  to  the  painful  strife, 
An  end  to  the  jarring  discords,  that  weary  this  earthly  life; 
And  the  trees  that  so  many  summers  bloomed  fruitless,  shall 

yield  their  full ; 
And  the  hearts  that  were  sad  and  broken,  shall  be  glad  again, 

and  whole. 


LOVE. 


HOW  sweet  the  charm  where  Love  unites 
Two  kindred  souls,  to  make 
A  heaven  of  their  terrestial  home, 
And  all  the  kindly  graces  come, 
Their  blessings  to  partake. 


LOVE.  75 


There  Friendship  finds  a  welcome  seat, 

And  Charity's  a  guest, 
And  every  day  of  all  the  year 
Brings  peace,  contentment  and  good  cheer, 

With  angels  at  the  feast. 


PROGRESS. 


YOUNG  Progress,  once  upon  a  time, 
Desired  to  take  the  reins, 
And  drive  the  steeds  of  Time  himself 
Across  the  Western  plains. 

The  team  was  safe  in  Steady's  hands, 

But  then  he  drove  so  slow ! 
Pray,  father,  let  me  try  for  once, — 

I'm  old  enough,  I  know. 

"My  son."  said  Steady,  "You  shall  hear 

The  counsels  of  your  sire; 
But  if,  well  warned,  you  still  insist, 

I  grant  you  your  desire. 

"The  way  that  we  must  go,"  said  he, 

"Hath  dangers  not  a  few; 
And  not  a  single  step  of  it 

Is  known  to  me  or  you." 


76  PROGRESS. 


But  Progress  was  a  headstrong  youth, 

And  gave  but  little  thought 
To  lessons  from  the  lips  of  age, 

Howe'er  with  wisdom  fraught. 

He  took  the  reins,  on  dashed  the  steeds; 

The  way  seemed  smooth  and  plain; 
The  crowds,  exulting,  shout  "Hurrah  !" 

Beside  the  rattling  wain. 

What  brave  advances  we  have  made, 

Is  his  exulting  cry. 
What  of  the  rude  and  sluggish  past 

With  modern  times  can  vie ! 

Down  with  the  fences  !  bridge  the  streams  ! 

We'll  take  a  shorter  way ; 
A  good  time's  coming,  we've  been  told ; 

We'll  have  it  here  to-day ! 

The  glittering  of  the  distant  hills 

His  eager  eye  engaged ; 
He  heeded  not  the  slippery  rocks, — 

The  floods  that  round  them  raged. 

Too  late,  he  saw  the  danger  near; 

He  sought  escape  too  late ! 
The  good  time  soonest  comes  for  those 

Who  bide  their  time  and  wait. 


w 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  SEASONS. 

HAT  dost  thou  bring  for  me?  what  dost  thou  bring? 
Haste  with  thy  gifts  of  joy,  beautiful  Spring. 


May-flowers  I  bring  thee,  all  blushing  and  sweet; 
Violets  I  scatter  all  under  thy  feet; 
Wind-flowers  in  green  budding  thickets  I  strew; 
Buttercups  golden  I  spread  in  your  view. 
Gather  them  quickly;  enjoy  them  to-day; 
For  soon,  on  the  morrow,  they'll  wither  away. 

What  dost  thou  bring  for  me?     Haste,  and  come  near, 
Beautiful  Summer,  so  sunny  and  clear! 

Roses  I  bring  thee,  the  sweetest  of  June, — 
Perishing  roses  :     Oh  !  gather  them  soon. 
Lilies  I  bring  thee,  that  ope  with  the  day; 
But  ere  the  sun  set,  they  wither  away. 
Bright  days,  with  golden  winged  sunbeams,  I  bring, 
When  the  green  fields  laugh,  and  happy  birds  sing. 
Haste  to  enjoy  them,  while  bright  are  the  hours, 
Warm  are  the  sunbeams  and  fresh  are  the  flowers ; 


78  THE   CHILD   AND   THE    SEASONS. 

Haste,  and  with  blessed  deeds  fill  them ;  Oh,  haste, 
Ere  the  sun  set,  and  the  summer  be  past! 

What  dost  thou  bring  for  me,  season  of  bounty, 
Autumn, — thy  hands  overflowing  with  plenty? 

Fruit  from  the  orchard  and  corn  from  the  field ; 
Sweet  nuts  I  bring,  which  the  forest  trees  yield  ; 
Blessings  abundant  on  you  I  bestow; 
What  thanks  to  the  heavenly  Father  you  owe  ! 
Ripe  fruits  I  scatter,  and  frost,  on  the  ground ; 
Nuts  and  dry  leaves  fall  together  around; 
Beautiful  blossoms  I  spread  in  your  way; 
Landscapes  I  show  you,  as  lovely  as  May ; 
With  bright  days  and  sunny  I  gladden  the  heart, 
Yet  mourn  not  that  soon  must  their  beauty  depart. 
Enjoy  them  with  thankfulness  while  they  remain, 
For  soon  the  cold  snow-drifts  will  cover  the  plain. 

What  dost  thou  bring  for  me,  season  austere, — 
Hoary-haired  Winter?  what  bringest  thou  here? 

Cold  storms  I  bring;  but  they  soon  will  be  over; 
With  a  mantle  of  snow  the  earth's  bosom  I  cover, 
But  soon  it  will  melt  in  the  sun's  smiling  beams, 
And  my  bridges  of  ice  will  be  gone  from  the  streams. 
Bright  hopes  I  bring,  and  sweet  pleasures,  to  cheer 
The  darkest  and  stormiest  days  of  the  year; 
Innocent  sports  for  the  gay  and  the  young, 
Good  books  to  read,  and  sweet  songs  to  be  sung. 


THE    CHILD   AND   THE   SEASONS 


Works,  too,  I  bring  vou, — good  deeds  to  be  done ; 
Haste  to  perform  them  before  I  am  gone. 
Let  there  not  be  even  a  short  winter  day, 
Whose  hours  you  have  foolishly  idled  away. 


PARNASSUS. 


~T)  RIGHTLY  the  sun  is  gilding  the  green  peaks 
-LJ     Of  the  old  mountain  where  the  Muses  dwelt; 
And  freshly  as  in  Homer's  days  of  song, 
Springs  the  Castalian  fountain  by  its  side, 
Bathed  in  whose  waves,  the  Grecian  harp  sent  forth 
Sweet  strains,  that  echo  yet  in  human  hearts. 

Yet  seek  no  more  for  inspiration  there, 
Ye  who  to  fadeless  laurel  crowns  aspire. 
Gone  from  Apollo's  consecrated  shades, 
Long  since,  their  hallowing  spirit.     By  that  fount, 
So  dear  to  them,  ye  shall  no  more  descry, 
Clad  in  their  leaf  and  flower-embroidered  robes. 
The  choral  sisters.     From  the  Olympian  heaven 
The  gods  have  vanished,  there  to  rule  no  more 
The  childish  nations,  that  with  idle  faith, 
Yielded  them  homage.     Ye  shall  seek  in  vain 
The  winged  steed,  o'er  Beauty's  glowing  realms, 
Fresh  with  Parnassian  dews,  to  bear  you  up; 


80  PARNASSUS. 


Too  weak  his  pinions  for  the  bolder  flights 
That  Truth's  high  errands  of  the  seer  demand. 
Truth  from  the  record  book  of  earth  sweeps  off 
The  poet's  idle  dreams;  from  Ida's  mount 
Rolls  back  the  clouds  that  veiled  the  fabled  seat 
Of  Jove,  and  shows  the  naked  mountain  top 
Kingless  and  throneless.     In  sublimer  light 
Than  ever  glowed  upon  Olympus'  crest, 
Reveals  a  heaven  in  which  the  heroes  crowned 
With  laurel  in  Elysium  would  be 
But  meanest  beggars,  and  its  idle  jrods, 
Despised  and  lifeless  images  of  clay. 

All  mountains  now  are  holy,  and  all  groves 
Are  temples,  where  the  humble  heart,  that  loves 
To  meet  with  God,  may  find  and  worship  Him. 
One  divine  spirit  breathes  in  every  gale, 
Or  dwells,  in  calm  repose,  wherever  blooms 
A  flower,  or  waves  a  tree  in  living  green  ; 
Wherever  chants  a  bird  his  morning  hymn, — 
Or  whatso'er  it  be,  that  may  remind 
The  creature  of  the  infinite  Father's  power, 
Who  formed  them  by  his  \Vord,  and  animates 
Their  being  by  his  ever  present  love. 
All  holy,  to  the  heart  that  gladly  finds 
The  impress  of  Almighty  wisdom  stamped 
On  every  beautiful,  every  common  thing; 


PAKNASSUS.  81 


And  deems  that  nought  that  is  can  be  too  small, 
Too  common  or  too  mean,  to  have  no  claim 
Of  kindred  with  its  Maker  and  our  God. 


THE    DEPARTED. 


GONE  ?     Yes,    but   for  a  little  while  the  parting  and  the 
pain. 
Heaven    shall    restore  the  near   and   dear  to  those  they  love 

again. 
Gone,  whither  \ve  shall  follow   soon,   with  them   the  joys   to 

share, 

Which  for  his  servants  here  below,  the  Lord  hath  treasured 
there. 

Gone?     No:  they  dwell  with  us  unseen,  they  share  our  hopes 

and  fears. 

In  our  rejoicing  they  rejoice,  and  sorrow  in  our  tears. 
Unseen,  God  sets  his  angel  watch,  with  constant  care  to  keep 
The  ways  his  children  walk  by  day,   and  guard  their  nightly 

sleep. 

Departed,  but  not  dead  ;  vea,  more  alive  than  when  they  dwelt 
With  us  on  earth  in  mortal  flesh,  and  all  its  weakness  felt. 
They  only  lose  their  earthlv  part,  they  gain  immortal  youth, 
Who  in  the  fear  of  God  have  lived,  and  kept  his  word  of  truth, 
ii 


INNOCENCE. 


DEAR  Innocence  in  a  low  cottage  dwells, 
Where  the  first  sunbeams  of  the  morning  kiss 
The  dew  drops  from  the  blossoms,  and  look  in 
Through  the  unshaded  windows,  wide  and  fair, 
And  through  her  open  door;  while  happiest  birds 
Sing  their  spring  carols.     With  her  own  content, 
She  never  wanders  from  her  home  away 
To  seek  for  more  than  Heaven  can  give  her  there. 
Herself  forgetting,  with  herself  at  peace, 
The  morrow  can  but  bring  her  joy;  the  night, 
That  sweet  repose  remorse  can  ne'er  disturb. 
Her  seasons  have  no  winter  and  no  frost. 
Her  garden  never  fails  for  fragrant  flowers, 
Of  which  she  wreathes  fresh  garlands  for  the  heads 
Of  infants,  whom  she  watches  o'er,  and  keeps 
With  all  solicitude  and  tender  care; 
And  whispers  in  their  ears  sweet  things,  which  none 
Besides  can  hear,  save  angels  ;  nor  forsakes 
Her  charge,  till  they  stray  wilful  from  her  courts. 


INNOCENCE.  83 


Conceit  and  Folly,  Vanity  and  Pride, 

Are  blind  to  every  avenue  that  leads 

To  her  abode;  but  Wisdom  is  her  guest 

By  day  and  night,  most  honored  at  her  board. 

And  Mercy  and  Compassion  walk  with  her; 

And  Charity  and  Friendship  drink  the  stream 

That  issues  from  the  fountain  at  her  gate. 

Amid  the  blossoming  roses  there  she  sits, 

Unwounded  by  the  thorns  :     Love  shares  her  seat, 

And  worships  with  her  in  her  sanctuary, 

And  dwells  with  her  through  all  the  season's  change. 

How  happy  they  who  know  her  voice,  and  love 
Her  sweet  companionship,  and  seek  for  her, 
In  the  warm  sunshine  of  her  peaceful  home; 
And  she  will  call  them  friends,  and  give  them  more 
Than  they  have  left  behind  in  palaces. 


SPRING  FLOWERS. 


GATHER  me  wild  flowers,  fill  my  vases  full, 
Fresh  with  the  dew  of  morn  and  breath  of  Sprins 
Fetch  me  sweet  Mayflowers,*  that  so  early  dare, 
From  their  close  hiding-places  to  peep  forth, 


*Epigaca repens,  otherwise  called  Trailing  Arbutus. 


84  SPRING  FLOWERS. 


And  deck  the  earth  with  beauty,  while  the  snow 

Yet  lingers  in  the  shadow  of  the  wood  : 

Bring  handfuls  of  cerulean  Innocence, f 

That  dots  the  turf  all  thick  with  silver  stars, 

Marsh  Marygolds,J  that  make  the  meadows  laugh 

With  golden  sunshine;  violets,  purple-streaked, 

Looking  out  covlv  through  their  soft-fringed  lids; 

Deep  blue  Hepaticas,  from  sunny  slopes 

Of  wooded  hills;  gay  scarlet  Columbines, 

That  love  to  nod  above  the  rocky  cliff; 

Anemones,  that  hide  their  blushing  heads 

Behind  green  curtains,  in  the  sylvan  shade; 

Rhodora,  that  adorns  her  leafless  stems 

With  crowns  of  rosy  flowers ;  add  graceful  bells 

Of  dog-tooth  violets,  and  white  Saxifrage. 

Its  tale  of  joy  and  gladness  each  shall  tell, 

And  wake  old  memories  of  their  woodland  homes, 

Whose  floor  my  feet  may  never  tread  again. 

Haste,  bring  them  ere  they  wither  in  your  hands; 

Bind  them  together  with  a  golden  thread, 

For  love,  for  hope,  for  memory,  and  for  trust 

In  Him  who  made  them  all  so  beautiful. 


fHoustonia,  or  Oldenlandia  Coerulea,  a  flower  extensively  found 
through  the  United  States,  and  called  by  various  local  names,  such  as  Inno 
cence,  Venus'  Pride  and  Bluets. 

JThis  is  the  proper  English  name  of  what  is  here  commonly  called  Cow 
slip;  in  Botany,  Caltha  palustris. 


THE  PRICE  OF  LOVE. 


HOW  sacred  and  how  dear  a  trust 
Thou  takest  with  thy  marriage  vow ! 
The  love  which  thou  hast  inly  nursed 
Must  answer  for  thee  now; 

Must  teach  thy  brave  and  manly  heart, 
Her  burdens  with  thine  own  to  bear, 

And  heaven-descended  strength  impart, 
To  take  the  double  share. 

The  tender  secret  of  her  life, 

Which  else  from  all  the  world  she  hides, 
The  honor  of  a  trusting  wife, 

She  to  thy  care  confides. 

Thine  but  to  love;  not  thine  to  make 
A  slave  or  toy ;  else  but  a  loan 

All  undeserved ;  and  for  her  sake 
Thou  art  but  half  thine  own. 

Strong  love  can  no  exceptions  frame 
To  nature's  laws ;  and  he  must  pay 


86  THE   PRICE   OF  LOVE. 


Full  price  for  all  that  he  would  claim, 
And  give  himself  away. 

Yet  richer  thus  than  e'er  before, 
Large  interest  in  return  he  gains, 

And  finds  that  Heaven's  reward  can  more 
Than  recompense  his  pains. 


NATURE. 


"\  ~\  7"HAT  aspects  thousand-fold  of  loveliness 

•  *        And  grandeur  Nature  sets  before  our  eyes, 
In  ever  changing  sky  and  blooming  earth, 
To  tempt   our  admiration  and  our  praise  ! 
Not  at  rare  seasons  only, — waited  for 
Through  years  of  hope  and  longing, — but  as  though 
She  could  not  be  too  lavish  of  her  gifts, 
Spread  all  around  us  daily,  so  that  none 
May  miss  the  beauty,  who  have  eyes  to  see, 
Or  fail  to  find  the  joy,  with  hearts  to  feel. 
And  while  the  curtains  of  this  earthly  tent 
She  paints  with  pictures  all  significant 
Of  a  sublimer  life  than  she  can  boast, 
She  wakens,  on  her  thousand-stringed  harp, 
To  charm  us,  harmonies  so  deep  and  full, 


NATURE. 


That  we  can  utter  but  a  little  part 

Of  what  we  hear,  and  ere  we  comprehend 

The  depth  and  fullness,  we  are  raised  above 

The  arms  of  Nature  to  a  higher  sphere. 

For  Nature's  realm  is  but  a  theatre, 

Whose  scenes  of  beauty  and  of  grandeur  stand. 

Not  only  to  entrance  the  wondering  eyes, 

And  fill  the  heart  with  rapture,  but  before 

The  inner  sense  to  image  forth  the  hand 

Of  wonder-working  power  behind  the  veil, 

And  to  invite  and  lead  us  to  confess, 

The  glory  is  but,  borrowed  from  a  world 

Of  life  immortal  and  of  light  divine; 

That  what  we  see  is  only  a  reflection — 

A  shadow  of  realities  unseen; 

And  Nature,  whom  we  worship  as  a  goddess, 

Onlv  a  servant  of  the  Lord  of  all. 


SUNSHINE. 


SHUT  it  not  out— the  golden  light, 
But  let  its  radiance  softly  pour 
Through  the  clear  window,  warm  and  bright. 
Across  the  vellow  floor. 


88  SUNSHINE. 


Shut  it  not  out.     The  joyous  sun 
Has  many  a  ta'.e  to  tell  to  me, 
While  through  the  quiet  afternoon 
His  slanted  beams  I  see. 

Tales  of  young  years,  of  childhood's  home, 
Of  Autumn's  days, — so  calm  and  clear, 
When  the  warm  sunlight  used  to  come 
Just  as  I  see  it  here, 

Through  windows  open  to  the  day, 
In  that  old  home,  so  dear  to  me, 
Whose  mossy  roof,  through  far  away, 
In  memory  still  I  see. 

Then  let  the  golden  sunshine  stream 
Across  my  lonely  chamber  floor; 
And  let  me  dream  the  happy  dreams 
Of  childhood's  days  once  more. 

The  city's  walls  that  hem  me'in 
Shall  seem  awhile  to  fade  away-, 
And  hushed  shall  be  its  busy  din, 
As  for  a  Sabbath  day. 

Tall  chestnut  groves,  with  whispering  sound, 
As  when  by  summer  winds  caressed, 
Shall  seem  with  green  to  wall  me  round, 
And  soothe  my  heart  to  rest. 


HOME  IN  THE  WOODS. 


YE  pleasant  groves,  cool,  mossy  shadows,  green 
Retreats  of  summer,  how  I  mourned  your  fall 
Gone  from  the  hill-side  were  the  grateful  bowers, 
The  homes  of  childhood's  pleasures,  sacred  seats 
Of  its  first  aspirations  after  good, 
Among  whose  murmuring  leaves  the  holy  voice 
That  speaks  of  God  in  nature,  first  came  down 
To  one  who  loved  beneath  their  canopy 
To  feel  the  awe  of  solitude,  and  breathe 
The  inspiration  of  that  silent  scene. 
A  little  sanctuary  in  the  wood, 
Was  childhood's  home  to  him,  where  peacefully 
The  days  and  seasons  passed,  while  what  is  called 
"  The  world"  was  far  removed  and  all  unknown. 
The  leaves  and  blossoms  were  his  teachers  there, 
Reminding  him  of  the  creating  hand 
That  fashioned  them  so  wondronsly  ;   while  books 
That  echoed  their  wise  teaching,  led  the  way 
To  fields  of  wider  view,  and  brought  within 
Home's  dear  but  narrow  circle  of  delights, 
A  new  companionship:  —  the  wise  and  good 


90  HOME   IX  THE   WOODS. 


Of  all  times  and  all  nations,  teach  in  books, 
And  we  can  hear  their  counsels  and  give  heed, 
If  we  but  will.     So  from  beneath  the  wood 
The  grown  up  child  went  forth,  but  carried  still 
The  love  of  forest  flowers  and  forest  shades 
Within  his  bosom,  while  he  walked  the  streets, 
Amid  the  city's  busy  throng,  that  seemed 
A  solitude  more  lonely  than  the  wood. 
And  then  they  hewed  the  shady  groves  away, 
And  let  the  sunlight  in.     So  Providence 
Oft  pulls  away  the  bulwarks  we  have  reared 
Round  some  long-cherished  object,  dear  to  self, 
But  shutting  out  the  sunlight  from  the  soul. 
So  must  the  bud  break  open  its  green  cell, 
To  glow  a  lovelv  blossom  in  the  dav. 
Yet  who  will  not  lament,  (at  least  sometimes,) 
The  fading  of  the  pictures,  so  endeared, 
That  curtained  childish  innocence  around, 
And  kept  it,  like  the  wrapped-up  bud,  awhile, 
From  the  rude  contact  of  the  heartless  world? 


VERSES  WRITTEN   FOR  MR.  AND  MRS.  H. 


WE  are  but  travellers  and  pilgrims  here, 
And  a  short  journey  brings  us  to  the  end 
Of  our  abode  in  earthlv  tabernacles. 


VKIJSKS    WIUTTKX    FOR   Mil.    AXD    MRS.  H.  !)1 


When  past,  at  least,  how  short  the  time  appears  ! 
However  wearily  and  painfully 
Wo  trod  the  marches  of  the  wilderness, 
And  longed  for  green  oases  on  the  wav. 
The  sun  of  life  has  now  gone  bv  its  noon, 
And  shadows  lengthen,  as  the  sloping  rays 
Tell  of  the  dark,  chill  evening  soon  to  come. 
Awake,  gird  up  vour  loins,  and  he  prepared, 
When  your  last  earthly  day  has  reached  its  close, 
To  welcome  the  eternal  dawn  with  jov. 
Lift  up  the  eyes  of  Faith  even  now,  and  see 
The  shining  tops  of  the  eternal  mountains. 
How  shall  earth  longer  tempt  us,  when  we    once 
Have  seen  the  glory  of  their  light?  what  boots 
The  wealth  of  India  to  the  traveller,  who 
To-morrow  leaves  it  for  a  heritage 
Of  everlasting  worth  in  heavenly  realms. 

But  you,  mv  friends,  need  not  the  poet's  song 
To  inspire  Your  faith,  and  turn  vour  eves  toward  heaven, 
While  one,  who  from  vour  household  lately  passed, 
Seems  to  stand  beckoning  from  bevond  the  cold 
Black  stream  that  parts  us  from  the  immortal  shore. 
Filling  your  daily  thoughts  and  nightly  dreams 
With  invitations  eloquent  and  sweet, 
To  follow  whither  she  has  gone  to  dwell. 
Nor  need  YOU  to  be  taught,  that  over  all 


VERSES    WRITTEN   FOR   MR.    AND   MRS.    H. 


The  woes,  the  wrongs,  the  wretchedness  of  earth, 
Eternal  Mercy  sits,  disposing  all, 
And  leading  those  that  put  their  trust  in  God, 
Through  all  the  storms,  and  all  the  desert  ways 
That  lie  between  them  and  their  home  in  heaven. 
And  the  same  mercy  takes  away,  that  gives  : 
And  takes  an  earthly  treasure,  but  to  give 
One  of  eternal  worth.     And  we  shall  know 
Hereafter,  that  He  hath  done  all  things  well. 

Accept,  my  friends,  mv  Christmas  offering: 
These  verses,  which,  though  they  may  not  contain 
Much  to  instruct  or  to  console,  may  yet 
Afford  some  pleasure,  and  a  little  use 
Perform,  for  friendship's  sake,  when  all  without, 
Cold  Winter's  bleak,  unfriendly  aspect  wears. 
And  if  we  seldom  meet  each  other  here, 
Still  let  us  hope  that  we  may  stand  together, 
In  the  great  congregation  of  the  souls 
Redeemed  from  earth,  with  robes  njade  white  and  clean. 
Immortal  brethren,  in  the  Lord's  New  Heaven. 


WRITTEN  FOR  A  LADY  BY  REQUEST. 

THOU  askest  of  my  poverty  a  gift; 
Thou  askest  of  my  broken  harp  a  song  : 
Of  the  disconsolate  and  the  bereft 

Thou  askest  words  of  comfort  for  the  strong. 


AVJJITTEX    FOK   A    LADY    J?Y    IJEQUEST. 


Yet  I  am  not  so  poor  as  they  whose  hands 
Are  full  of"  gold,  without  a  heart  to  give. 

Let  me  not  grudge  their  houses  and  their  lands. 
While  in  sweet  peaee  of  conscience  I  may  live. 

What  shall  I  say  then?     lie  gives  best  who  knows 

That  all  he  has  is  only  lent  on  trust; 
That  all.  and  more  than  all.  to  God  he  owes; 

Nor  less,  to  man,  his  dntv  to  be  just. 

Wouldst  thou  find  strength  in  time  of  trouble?  ask 
Of  Him  who  gives  thee  all  thou  eall'st  thine  own, 

And  with  the  daily  gift,  the  daily  task  ; 
And  leave  the  morrow  to  His  care  alone. 


NATURE  WORSHIP. 


HOW  sweet  a  jov  the  love  of  Nature 
Inspired  within  mv  youthful  breast! 
With  new  delights  each  blooming  feature 
Of  her  fair  face  my  heart  impressed. 

1  low  wondrously  of  Him  who  made  her 
So  strangely  fair,  I  thought  and  felt! 

With  reverence  deeper  still  and  gladder, 
Before  the  Lord  of  all  I  knelt. 


NATURE   WORSHIP. 


Then  sweet-voiced  Science  came  to  show  me 
What  mysteries  lay  in  Nature's  heart : 

In  everything  above — below  me, 
I  learned  to  trace  divinest  art. 

Alas!  amid  the  endless  treasures 
Of  Nature's  ever  glorious  show, 

I  quite  forgot  my  noblest  pleasure, 
Mv  Maker  and  myself  to  know. 

The  depth  of  sin,  the  height  of  duty, 
The  bliss  of  virtue, — knew  I  not; 

Enchanted  by  the  spell  of  beauty, 
The  hand  that  gave  it  I  forgot. 

With  seemingly  devout  emotion 
I  prayed  as  to  a  God  unknown  : 

Alas  !  how  vain  was  my  devotion  ! 
I  worshipped  but  at  Nature's  throne. 

The  grove  where  loving,  trustful  childhood 
With  joy  its  heavenly  Father  met, 

Became  a  dank  and  tangled  wildwood 
With  chilling  dews  of  error  wet. 

The  flowers  that  I  so  dearh"  cherished 
Faded  and  withered  where  they  grew: 

The  sweetness  of  their  odors  perished  : 
To  other  groves  my  song-birds  flew. 


XA'ITKK    \VOKSIIII'. 


Mv  heaven  with  roof  of  sparkling  a/ure, 
And  golden  sun,  that  glowed  so  bright, 

Through  childhood's  summer  hours  of  pleasure. 
(jre\v  black  and  storm v  to  mv  sight. 

Then,  when  the  bow  its  lovelv  splendor 
Across  the  angry  storm  cloud  threw. 

And  the  parched  leaves,  all  fresh  and  tender. 
Washed  bv  the  quickening  raindrops,  grew, 

I  recognized  the  heavenly  token, 

And  saw  with  shame,  how  far  mv  wav 

Hud  turned  from  Him  whose  Word  had  spoken 
Fair  Nature;  into  life  and  dav;  — 

From  Him  without  whose  heart-felt  presence. 

All  outward  jovs  are  fleeting  things; 
And  onlv  humble,  meek  obedience 

Enduring  peace  and  blessing  brings. 


YOUTH    AND  AGE. 


STAY  with  me,  Youth.  I  cried,  and  fill  me  up 
The  measure  of  thv  beautv  and  thv  bliss. 
Prolong  thv  cool  and  fragrant,  morning  hours: 
Keep  fresh  the  dewv  blossoms  of  thy  prime. 


YOUTH   AND   AGE. 


Let  not  the  promises  which  thou  hast  made 

Of  good  to  come,  prove  vain  and  flattering  dreams. 

Leave  me  not  yet  to  wrinkles  and  grey  hairs. 

But  Youth  replied,  I  may  not  stay  with  thee. 
Unless  I  leave  thee,  Wisdom  cannot  come  : 
And  she  hath  better  gifts  for  thee  than  mine. 
My  joys  are  but  as  feasts  at  wayside  inns ; 
Hers,  the  delights  of  dear  and  happy  home, 
After  the  journey  and  the  toil  are  past. 
Unless  my  blossoms  fade  away  and  die, 
No  fruit  shall  ripen  for  thy  Autumn  store, 
No  harvest  for  thy  Winter's  bread  be  reaped. 

So  Youth  departed ;  and  so  Age  came  on  ; 
My  brow  was  wrinkled  and  my  head  grew  grey. 
And  Wisdom, — where  was  she?     I  cannot  tell. 
With  senses  dulled  and  numbed,  decrepit  limbs, 
And  shattered  memory,  I  can  but  wait, 
Hoping  to  see  my  silver  purged  from  dross, 
The  chaff  and  tares  all  winnowed  from  my  wheat, 
When  I  have  laid  mortality  aside. 


AFFLICTIONS,  BLESSINGS  IN  DISGUISE. 


A 


S  above  the  darkest  storm-cloud 
Shines  the  sun,  serenely  bright, 


AFFLICTIONS,   BLESSINGS   IN  DISGUISE.  !)7 


Waiting  to  restore  to  Nature 
All  the  glory  of  his  light, 

So,  behind  each  cloud  of  sorrow, 

So,  in  each  affliction,  stands 
Mid,  an  angel,  with  a  blessing 

From  the  Father  in  his  hands. 

As  without  the  tempest,  pouring 
O'er  the  earth  the  welcome  rain, 

All  were  but  a  fruitless  desert, 
Barren  sand  for  ripening  grain, 

So,  if  ne'er  a  cloud  of  sadness 

Veiled  the  sunshine  of  the  soul, — 

If  affliction's  waves  were  never 
Suffered  o'er  the  heart  to  roll, — 

Love  and  faith  might  fail  forever 
To  bring  forth  their  fruits  of  peace  ; 

Heaven's  good  seed  of  truth  would  perish 
In  a  thorny  wilderness. 

So,  with  cloud  and  storm  and  tempest 
Grows  our  earthly  summer  dim, 

That  the  rebel  heart,  our  Father 
Thus  may  win  to  turn  to  Him. 

And  like  Israel's  tribes,  we  wander 
In  the  desert,  waste  and  drear, 
13 


98  AFFLICTIONS,    BLESSINGS  IN   DISGUISE. 


Hungering,  thirsting,  faint  and  weary. 
Month  by  month  and  year  by  year, 

There  we  taste  the  wondrous  manna, 
Heavenly  food  by  angels  brought: 

Quench  our  thirsting  at  the  fountain 
Of  the  rock  which  Moses  smote  ; 

Till,  (how  late!)  we  learn  the  lesson, 
Not  by  bread  alone  we  live, 

But  by  every  word  of  blessing 

Which  the  mouth  of  God  doth  give. 


WHAT  HAST  THOU  THOUGHT  OF  DEATH. 


w 


'HAT  hast  thou  thought  of  Death? 

To  lie  enshrouded  in  the  clay-cold  cell, 
With  kindred  worms  unconsciouslv  to  dwell, 
When  thou  dost  yield  thy  breath? 


Hast  thou  before  thine  eye 
The  pallid  corpse,  the  cold  sepulchral  stone. 
The  mouldering  dust,  the  bleached  and  rleshless  bone: 

Who  would  not  dread  to  die  ! 

Oh,  put  this  gloom  away  ! 
Leave,  with  the  spirit,  in  its  heavenward  night, 


WHAT   HAST   THOU    THOUGHT    OF   DEATH. 


This  dark  abode;  let  thy  thoughts  dwell  in  light, — 
In  glory, — not  in  clav. 

The  insect's  radiant  wings, — 
The  blossoms  thou  hast  planted  o'er  the  tomb, 
To  deck  the  spot  with  consecrated  bloom, — 

Shall  teach  thec  better  things. 

Let  the  light  odorous  flower 

Lift  thy  thoughts  upward  from  the  darksome  earth. 
Whence  its  gay  petals  and  fresh  leaves  had  birth, 

With  unresisted  power. 

The  crawling  worm  that  wakes 
Anew  to  winged  life  in  summer  air, 
Forgets  at  once  the  sordid  birth-place,  where 

The  narrow  cell  he  breaks. 

Forget  thou  thus  the  tomb, 
As  they,  who  leave  its  darkness  far  behind, 
And  in  the  fragrant  heavenlv  gardens  bind 

Wreath  of  immortal  bloom. 

And  glimpses  of  their  light, 
Like  coming  morning  radiance,  shall  illume 
The  clouds  that  hangs  Death's  narrow  way  with  gloom, 

Even  to  thy  mortal  sight. 


THE  MAPLE  TREE. 


UNDER  the  Maple  in  early  Spring, 
When  first  the  blue-bird  begins  to  sing! 
See  him !  he's  perched  on  the  topmost  spray ; 
He's  thinking  of  building  a  nest  some  day. 

Under  the  Maple  on  the  hill, 

Over  the  brook  that  turns  the  mill ; 

It  stands  by  itself,  and  overlooks 

The  village,  the  cornfields,  the  meadows  and  brooks. 

Wide  it  stretched  its  knotty  arms, 

Pointing  each  way  o'er  the  neighbor's  farms  ; 

Its  trunk  is  larger  than  you  and  I 

Could  reach  around,  if  we  both  should  try. 

Under  the  Maple  all  red  with  bloom, 
Come,  when  the  south  wind  is  blowing;  come 
When  the  sky  is  blue,  and  the  golden  ray 
Of  the  April  sunshine  is  warm  as  Mav. 


THE    3IAPLE    TREE.  101 


Sweet  is  the  scent  of  the  Maple  flower. 

When  the  fields  are  brown  and  leafless  the  bower: 

And  the  violet  buds  are  sleeping  still 

In  their  snug  green  chambers  beside  the  hill. 

Come  for  a  nosegay  to-day;  for  few 
Are  the  days  in  April  so  warm  and  blue ; 
To-morrow,  the  cold  north-east  may  blow, 
With  its  clouds  and  rain,  with  its  sleet  and  snow. 

Under  the  Maple  again  !     'Tis  May  ; 
And  the  little  blue  butterfly's  out  at  play; 
There  are  field  flowers  now,  and  the  busy  bee 
Has  begun  her  work  for  the  Spring,  you  see. 

The  maple  blossoms  are  gone;  but  now 
Green  leaf-buds  are  bursting  oil  every  bough  ; 
And  the  thrush  and  the  robin  are  singing  with  glee 
Among  the  limbs  of  the  Maple  tree. 

The  gladdest  sunshine  of  all  the  vear 
Falls  when  the  fresh  green  lea-  es  appear, 
And  twinkles  and  flashes  from  every  spray, 
As  the  soft  May  winds  with  the  branches  play. 

Under  the  Maple  when  Summer  has  come, 
With  her  clover-fields  sweet  and  her  roses  in  bloom  : 
And  the  leaves  are  so  green  and  so  thick  overhead, 
Like  a  tent  in  the  summer  heat  outspread. 


THE    MAPLE    TREE. 


When  the  sun  is  high  and  the  sky  is  clear, 
The  farmer's  cattle  that  pasture  near, 
Love  to  come  and  lie  down  in  the  shade, 
So  cool  and  green,  by  the  maple  made. 

And  the  nests  of  the  birds  are  so  snugly  hid 
The  clustering  maple-boughs  amid, 
That  the  sharpest  eyes  in  vain  will  look 
For  the  shining  eggs  in  their  leafy  nook. 

Under  the  Maple  when  Autumn  is  here, 
Come,  when  the  sky  is  bright  and  clear, 
And  the  forests,  like  royal  tents,  are  spread 
With  curtains  of  purple  and  gold  and  red. 

And  the  Maple  tree,  with  his  crimson  crown, 
Looks  on  the  white,  ripe  cornfields  down  ; 
And  the  pale  wild  asters,  white  and  blue. 
Bend  with  the  heavy  Autumn  dew. 

Come  while  'tis  sunny  and  warm  and  bright. 
And  the  fields  look  glad  in  the  mellow  light: 
For  the  cold,  black  frost  will  soon  be  here, 
With  death  to  each  blossom  so  sweet  and  dear. 

And  the  storm-wind  will  scatter  all  thick  around. 
The  rosy  leaves  on  the  frosted  ground  ; 
And  the  maple  boughs  will  swing  gaunt  and  bare, 
In  the  sullen  gusts  of  the  wintry  air. 


BEYOND  THE  GATE. 


I     KNOW  the  wav  is  rough  and  weary; 
The  evening  clouds  look  dark  and  dreary 
That  gather  where  we  sit  and   wait: 
But  every  moment  brings  us  nearer 
A  morning  where  the  sky  is  clearer, 
A  brighter  home  than  this,  and  dearer; 
And  there  is  rest  beyond  the  gate. 

One  Winter  more  has  just  passed  o'er  us  : 
Another  Spring  lies  close  before  us, 

With  promise  sweet  of  song  and  bloom. 
()  childish  jov  in  vernal  flowers! 
I  low  oft  the  chilling  tempest  lowers 
O'er  Spring's  green  fields  and  budding  bowcr> 

And  shades  the  sunnv  day  with  gloom  ! 

But  in  that  happier  country  whither 

We  turn  our  eves,  no  storm-clouds  gather. 

Nor  frosts  the  tender  bloom  destroy. 
Into  thy  fold.  Good  Shepherd,  lead  us: 
In  green  and  heavenly  pastures  feed   us; 
Safe  through  the  lonely  journey  speed  us, 

Home  to  the  mansions  of  thy  joy. 


WHAT  HAVE  I  DONE. 


w 


rHAT  have  I  done! 

With  retrospect  as  honest  as  I  can, 
My  brief  day's  work  attentively  I  scan. 
What  deeds  of  love  to  God,  or  good  to  man? 
Low  in  the  West  I  see  the  setting  sun ; 
What  have  I  done? 

What  have  I  done, 

To  cause  me  joy  that  such  a  chance  was  given 
To  take  yet  one  step  further  on  towards  heaven  ? 
What  done  amiss,  that  needs  to  be  forgiven? 
Bear  witness  for  me,  O  departing  sun  ; 

What  have  I  done? 

What  have  I  done? 
'Tis  all  recorded  in  the  eternal  book; 
Who  without  dread  upon  its  leaves  may  look  ? 
I  must  give  up  again  the  charge  I  took. 
How  have  I  done,  O  conscience,  let  me  ask, 

This  earthly  task. 


WHAT   HAVE   I  DOXE?  105 


"Pis  almost  done ; 

Father,  thou  knowest  whether  well  or  ill ; 
If  I  in  anything  have  done  thy  will. 
What  can  I  more,  my  errand  to  fulfil, 
Ere  the  last  sands  of  ebbing  life  are  run? 

'Twill  soon  be  done. 


AUTUMN. 


SO  Autumn,  thou  art  come ! 
I  love  the  mildness  of  thine  early  breath, 
So  gently  whispering,  as  it  tells  the  death 

Of  lovely  Summer's  bloom. 

Yet  thou  hast  thine  own  flowers 
All  thickly  scattered  by  the  traveller's  way  ; 
Lavish  of  purple  and  of  gold  are  they; 

While  all  the  forest  bowers 

Will  soon  be  gaily  dressed 
In  many-colored  garments, — richer  far 
Than  coronation  robes  of  monarchs  are. 

And  then  will  sink  to  rest 

The  leaves  and  blossoms  down 
To  mother  earth;  and  we  will  not  lament 
The  fading  of  that  beauty,  only  lent 

To     arnish  Autumn's  crown. 


106  AUTUMN. 


'Tis  soft  and  balmy  now, 
Like  Spring  in  Italy,  as  poets  tell; 
As  though  the  south  wind  had  a  magic  spell, 

To  deck  the  green  hills'  brow 

Again  with  vernal  gems, 
To  bid  the  sere  leaf  freshen  on  the  tree, 
And  birds  renew  their  May-time  jubilee 

Amid  the  blossoming  stems. 

Vain  dream  !     Enjoy  awhile 

The  enchanted  scene;  witch-hazel  blossoms  pale 
A  little  longer  scent  the  Autumnal  gale, 

And  blue  fringed  gentians  smile 

To  the  October  sun, 
A  lonely  aster  here  and  there  remains, 
Till  keener  frosts  and  cold  Nos-ember  rains 

Have  vanquished  every  one. 


MESSIAH. 


WHEN  o'er  the  earth  a  fearful  night  its  veil  of  darkness 
spread, 

And  scarce  a  single  trembling  star  its  feeble  lustre  shed, 
To  light  the  path  that  here  and  there  a  lonesome  traveller 
'  trod, 

Who  sought,  with  slow  and  doubtful  step,  the  temple  of  his 
God,— 


MESSIAH.  107 


When  over  almost  every  eye  had  fallen  the  sleep  of  death. 
And  cheerless  and  forlorn,  the  weary  nations  sat  beneath 
The  clouds  of  darkness  that  concealed  the  light  which  once 

had  shone 

Upon  the  earth  with  glory  long  forgotten  and  unknown, — 
A  voice  came  from  the  wilderness,  "Prepare,  prepare  the  wav 
For  Him   who  comes   to  bring  again   the   light  of  heavenly 

day ; 
Before  Him  let  the  mountains  bow;  each  crooked  wav  make 

straight; 

Exalt  the  valleys  where  he  comes  to  enter  Zion's  gate. 
Repent  ye,  for  the  harvest  time  of  all  the  earth  is  near; 
The  Husbandman  to  gather  in  His  sheaves  will  soon  appear: 
Repent,  and  bring  forth  worthy  fruits  for  Him  who  comes  to 

see 

If  there  be  grapes  upon  his  vine  or  figs  upon  his  tree." 
So  taught  the  appointed  messenger,  wrho,  as  Elias,  came, 
The  advent  of  the  Son  of  God  in  Israel  to  proclaim. 
Hear,  Judah  !  hear,  Jerusalem  !  the  glad  announcement  hear! 
The  prophet  ye  have  waited  for  will  soon  on  earth  appear. 
The  promised  heir  to  David's  throne,  your  Saviour  and  your 

king, 

To  the  imprisoned  and  the  bound  deliverance  comes  to  bring; 
Strength  to  the  feeble  he  shall  give,  and  soundness  to  the  lame  ; 
The  sick  and  wounded  shall  be  healed;  the  dumb  confess  his 

name ; 

The  deaf  and  heavy  ear,  unstopped,  rejoice  to  hear  his  word ; 
The  blind,  with  open  eyes,  shall  see  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 


108  MESSIAH. 


Peace,    not  heaven-born,  but  as  of  death,   reigned  o'er  the 

waiting  earth, 

In  that  dark  hour  which  gave  the  long-desired  Messiah  birth  : 
As  though  the  powers  of  hell  had  thought  that  all  was   over 
come, 

The  last  good  angel  fled,  so  Eden  now  might  be  their  home ; 
And  having  laid  aside  their  arms  and  warfare  for  a  while, 
Sat  down  upon  the  ruined  world  to  rest  and  share  the  spoil. 
Then  came  the  Lord  of  glory  down,  to  bring  salvation  near, 
That  men,  who  were  about  to  die,  his  living  word  might  hear. 
He  veiled  his  glory  in  a  cloud,  that  mortal  eyes  might  see 
His  face  and  live,  who  came  from  sin  and  death  to  set  them  free. 
He  came,  but  not  with  regal  pomp,  and  not  with  martial  train, 
Deliverance  from  the  Roman  yoke  for  Israel's  sons  to  gain ; 
Not  to  exalt  the  proud   in   heart,   who  dared,   with   impious 

praise, 
To  flatter  Him  who  from  the  heavens  beheld  their  crooked 

ways. 

Their  fathers  bowed  to  wood  and  stone,  and  with  the  proph 
ets'  blood, 
Whose  word  they  would  not  hear,  defiled  the   land  on  which 

they  stood ; 

Yet,  unrepented  and  unwept  their  fathers'  deeds  of  shame, 
With   solemn   rite  and  lip    devout,    they    invoked  Jehovah's 

name, 

And  vainly  dreamed  that  to  their  race  he  would  again  restore 
The  majesty  and  kingdom  to  be  theirs  forevermore ; 
Yea,  that  himself,  as  David's  son,  on  David's  throne  should  sit, 


MESSIAH.  100 


And  all  the  world  should  there  bestow  their  honors  at  his  feet. 

He  came — but  they  who  had   despised  his   prophets   and   his 

word, 

Refused  to  own  him  as  their  King,  to  adore  him  as  their  Lord  ; 
They  saw  not  in  his  humble  guise,    his   meek   and   sorrowful 

face, 

The  love  which  stooped  to  seek  the  lost  and  win  the  rebel  race  • 
And  though  they  saw  him  heal  the  sick  and  cause   the   dead 

to  live, 

Acknowledged  not  his  power  divine,  the  sinner  to  forgive; 
But  with  an  impious  scorn  ascribed  to  demons  from  below, 
The  glory  which  a  God  alone  upon  him  could  bestow. 
An  outlawed  miscreant's  release,  instead  of  his,  they  claim, 
And  give  him  to  a  felon's  death  of  agony  and  shame. 
Earth,   fear  and   tremble,    for  the   deeds   that   are  upon  thee 

done ! 

Veil  thee  with  night  and  be  ashamed,  O  thou  astonished  sun  ! 
Wonder  and  be   amazed,    O   heavens,    at  guilt  so   deep   and 

dread  ! — 

At  mercj'  so  divine  and  large,  that  bows  the  Saviour's  head 
All  patiently  to  shame  and  death — to  death  that  he  may  take 
Immortal  power,  the  bars  of  death  forevermore  to  break. 
Rejoice  ye  saints  and  shout,  for  your  deliverer  is  at  hand! 
The  Captain  of  the  heavenly  hosts,  almighty  to  command, 
Has  fought  with  death  and  conquered  hell,  and  now   ascends 

to  reign 
In  heaven,  and  there  the  throne  of  truth  forever  to  maintain  ; 


110  MESSIAH. 


Forever  to  defend  and  save,  with  his  right  hand  of  might. 
All  those  that  put  their  trust  in  him  and  in  his  law  delight. 


THE  WEARY  WAY. 


O  HOLLOW,  soulless  pomp  which  deck* 
The  sordid  pageants  that  pass  bj, 
While  the  sad  heart  with  longing  breaks. 
For  food  which  can  its  needs  supply. 

Nothing  this  emptiness  can  fill 

But  bread  of  heaven  ;  naught  that  thirst 
Can  quench,  but  the  refreshing  rill 

Which  'neath  the  tree  of  life  doth  burst. 

Hungering  and  thirsting,  on  we  wend 

Our  dark  and  solitary  way, 
Knowing  not  where  our  steps  to  bend, 

But  longing  for  the  dawn  of  day. 

In  storm  and  weariness  we  tread 
Our  path  of  sorrow,  while  around 

False  lights  their  meteor  lustre  shed, 
Eyes  dim  with  watching  to  confound. 

We  falter, — fall;  an  angel's  hand 
Lifts  us;  an  angel's  voice  we  hear: 


THE  WEARY  WAY.  Ill 


"Mercy  shall  guide  you  to  the  land 
Of  heavenly  rest — be  of  good  cheer." 

Our  Lord  is  always  near  to  save, 

When  least  of  all  \ve  feel  his  power; 

Even  the  dark  midnight  of  the  grave 
lie  makes  a  joyful  triumph  hour. 

For  then  our  everlasting  home 

We  find,  where  sighing  and  distress. 

And  night  and  darkness,  cannot  come; 
But  the  bright  sun  of  Righteousness 

Shall  bless  us  with  eternal  day, 
All  in  its  noontide  light  revealed, 

For  which  we  now  but  hope  and  pray ; — 
The  fount  of  heaven's  delight  unsealed. 


TO  DR.  DEAN'S  EAGLE. 


PROUD  bird  of  freedom !   ah,  is  this  your  fate, 
To  lurk  about  the  Doctor's  barn  and  wait 
For  whatsoever  comes  within  vour  way, 
Whether  'tis  lawful  or  unlawful  prey? 
They  say  you  clear  the  yard  of  mice  and  rats, 
And  sometimes  pounce  upon  unlucky  cats, 
And  though  unable  to  procure  the  dish 


112  TO  DR.  DEAN'S  EAGLK. 


Yourself,  you  like  to  dine  or  sup  on  fish. 
Like  a  dilapidated  turkey,  there 
You  stand  and  meditate  on  what  you  were, 
When  you  were  able  to  enjoy  the  fun 
Of  soaring  high,  and  looking  at  the  sun, 
Of  going  out  a-fishing  when  you  please, 
And  roosting  nightly  on  the  tallest  trees; 
Not  even  dreaming  that  a  broken  wing 
Such  sad  disgrace  upon  your  pride  would  bring, 
And  hold  you  bound,  spite  of  your  noble  birth, 
A  hapless  prisoner  close  to  mother  earth. 
But  I  am  much  afraid  you  have  no  claim, 
At  least  no  just  one,  to  the  praise  and  fame 
Bestowed  upon  you  in  orations,  made 
With  less  regard  for  truth  than  for  parade; 
Or  song  of  poets,  crammed  with  flattering  lies 
About  "Jove's  bird,  "  the  favorite  of  the  skies. 
In  fact,  T  don't  believe  a  single  word 
Of  what  the  poets  say,  you  ugly  bird, 
About  your  greatness.     My  opinion  is, 
(With  due  regard  for  personalities,) 
That  of  all  feathered  fowl  that  ever  flew, 
There  can't  be  found  a  meaner  thief  than  you. 
Others,  besides  me,  think  'twas  a  mistake, 
When  Uncle  Sam  decided  you  to  take 
To  be  his  armor-bearer.     But,  you  see, 
Rome  had  the  eagle,  therefore,  so  must  we. 
But  of  this  matter  there's  another  view, 


TO  DR.  BEAN'S  EAGLE.  113 


Which  makes  it  quite  appropriate  that  you, 

In  your  capacity  should  represent 

A  bold,  audacious,  thievish  government, 

Which  once  made  prey  of  Texas,  and  which  would 

Steal  Canada  and  Cuba,  if  it  could. 

I  don't  assert  this  latter  view  is  just; 

But  those  who  like  can  take  it,  upon  trust. 

And  now,  perhaps  vou'll  think  I've  said  enough; 

So  good-b_v  to  vour  eagleship  :     I'm  off. 


THE  APPLE  TREE. 


SOME  praise  the  oak  with  its  branches  of  iron, 
That  weathers  the  storms  of  a  century  through, 
And  still  seems  as  fresh  as  when  only  a  sapling, 
It  stood  in  spring  garments  all  verdant  and  new. 

And  some  praise  the  laurel,  whose  green  boughs  o'ershadow 
The  foreheads  of  poets  and  nobles  and  braves; 

And  some  the  chaste  willow,  so  gracefully  drooping, 
That  weeps  in  sad  beauty  o'er  tear-hallowed  graves. 

And  some  the  green  cedar  of  Lebanon  honor. 

So  noble  a  tree  and  so  worthy  of  fame, 
Which  the  wisest  of  monarchs  in  Israel  once  hallowed, 

A  temple  to  build  to  Jehovah's  great  name. 
15 


114  THE  APPLE  TREE. 


But  let  me  to  a  tree  of  more  humble  pretensions, 
Though  none  the  less  useful,  give  honor  in  verse; 

The  tree  of  the  household,  the  pride  of  the  orchard, — 
The  apple  tree's  praises  I  fain  would  rehearse. 

The  sweet  blooming  apple-tree,  motherly  apple-tree;  — 

What  a  rich  burden  in  Autumn  it  bears; 
Not  like  the  pine  or  the  ash  or  the  cedar, 

Lifting  their  fruitless  tops  up  toward  the  stars, 

But  spreading  so  widely  its  well-laden  branches, 
With  fruit  for  man's  using  all  humbly  it  stands, 

And  asks  but  for  hearts  that  are  filled  with  thanksgiving 
For  the  gifts  it  brings  forth  from  Heaven's  bountiful  hands. 

Come,  join  with  me  then  in  the  apple-tree's  praises, 

So  worthy,  and  yet  how  neglected  in  song ! 
While  the  rose,  charming  only  by  perishing  beauty, 

Is  sung  by  all  poets,  extolled  by  each  tongue. 

Yet  the  apple-tree's  bloom  is  as  lovely  in  Spring-time. 

And  sweet  as  the  rose  that  the  poets  extol : 
While  the  rose-bush,  in  view  of  the  fruit-laden  orchard. 

In  Autumn  stands  lone  and  neglected  by  all. 


CHRISTMAS    VERSES    FOR    A  NEW  CHURCH 
MINISTER. 


OCOLD  and  cheerless  Winter  night, 
That  gave  the  babe  of  Bethlehem  birth  ! 
O  welcome,  host  of  angels  bright, 

That  sing  of  love  and  peace  on  earth ! 
O  welcome,  heavenly  star,  that  tells 
Where  the  descended  Saviour  dwells! 

Go,  servant  of  your  Lord  :  proclaim 
The  joyful  message  far  and  wide  : 

Salvation  in  the  wondrous  name 

Of  him  who  bore  the  cross  and  died, 

And  burst  the  bondage  of  the  grave, 

And  rose  with  power  divine  to  save. 

Go,  preach  that  all  the  painted  lies 
That  cover  guilt  and  wrong  to-day, 

Hypocrisy's  and  crime's  disguise, 
Shall  by  and  by  be  swept  away; 

And  Truth's  glad  morning,  clear  and  bright, 

Dispel  the  shades  of  Winter  night. 


116  CHRISTMAS  VERSES. 


Go,  prophesy  the  Spring-time  near, 
The  Summer  dav  of  Love  at  hand. 

When  earth's  broad  fields  shall  bloom  and  bear 
A  heavenly  harvest,  and  the  land 

Which  war  defiled  with  blood-stains,  be 

Green  with  the  peaceful  olive  tree. 


SIMILITUDES. 


PHILOSOPHER,  who  in  the  calm  sublime 
Of  meditation,  on  the  mountain  top 
Dost  sit,  descend:  and  if  upon  the  heaven 
Which  thou  hast  dwelt  so  near,  thou  may'st  have  read 
A  truth  which  it  were  good  for  us  to  love, 
Bring  it,  and  labor  with  us  in  the  work 
Of  making  it  our  own  and  thine  forever. 

The  sunlight  silvers  o'er  the  mountain  peaks 
With  heaven-like  splendor;  but  the  upper  air 
\Vhich  fans  their  bald  acclivities,  is  chill 
With  frost  of  endless  winter;  and  the  clouds 
Which  girdle  them  around  with  shining  belts, 
Float  there  on  icy  wings,  and  scatter  snows 
And  biting  hail  out  from  their  fleecy  folds; 
But  when  they  seek  the  vales  below,  dissolve 
In  genial  showers,  or  pour  in  rivulets  down 


SIMILITUDES. 


The  mountain  side,  to  water  all  the   mead. 
And  bless  the  labors  of  the  tiller's  hand. 
Then  first  the  crystal  waters  feel  the  glow        t 
Of  the  warm  sun,  beneath  whose  golden  beams 
I'nveiled,  they  seemed,  in  clouds,  to  hang  so  near. 

Xor  shall  the  truth  on  which  thou  dost  but  ga/e, 

As  on  the  breaking  of  the  morning  o'er 

The  purpled  tops  of  distant  mountains,  be 

Filled  with  the  warmth  of  love,  till  thou  hast  learned 

To  use  if  in  love's  service.     It  shall  then 

He  wings  for  thee,  to  bear  thee  onward  still 

To  fields  of  new  delight;  and  thou  shalr  warm 

The  life-blood  of  thy  spirit  with  the  toil 

Of  joyous  flight,  and  gather,  like  the  bee, 

Celestial  nectar  from  each  earth-born  flower. 

And  the  gay  hues  with  which  the  sunbeam  paints 

The  floating  clouds,  that  margin  round  the  tent 

Of  heaven,  are  like  imagination's  dreams, — 

Forever  changing  with  the  changing  hours. 

But  when  the  clouds  pour  down  their  watery  stores. 

And  the  glad  sun  looks  forth,  behold  the  bow. 

That  binds  the  changing  colors  to  the  form 

Of  heavenly  order,  as  the  Maker's  hand 

Once  placed  them,  when  he  blessed  the  earth  anew, 

And  gave  the  world  the  promise  of  his  grace. 


THE  WILD  FLOWERS. 

PALE  blossoms,  ye  appear 
Not  in  the  pageant  hues, 
Nor  with  the  fragrant  breath, 
The  garden's  favorites  bear; 
But  silently  the  dews, 
On  the  untrodden  heath, 
Into  your  small  bells  pour  the  trembling  tear. 

How  sweetly  do  ye  look. 
When  breathes  the  warm  south  wind 
Upon  the  budding  earth, 
From  every  sunlit  nook, 
Where  close  ye  lay  enshrined, 
Rejoicing  to  come  forth, 
And  smile  by  hill-side,  meadow,  bank  and  brook. 

Ye  make  the  solitude 
Glad,  as  ye  cluster  there  ; 
And  gracefully  ye  bend 
In  green  and  lonely  wood, 


THE    WILD    FLOWERS.  119 


And  through  the  summer  air 
Your  faint,  sweet  odors  send 
From  everv  spot  which  Spring  with  beautv  hath  renewed. 

Ye  are  like  those  who  dwell 
Far  from  the  busy  crowd, 
To  whom  the  books  of  fame 
Are  sealed  ;  yet  who  can  tell 
Of  sweetest  joys  bestowed 
By  conscience  void  of  blame, 
Of  peace  earth  cannot  give,  nor  all  its  storms  dispel. 


TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW. 


A   NOTIIER  vear  is  added  to  the  sum 
-£\.     Of  years  that  measure  our  brief  sojourn  here. 
Like  and  yet  various,  as  they  swiftly  pass. 
Eacli  changing  season  brings  its  hopes  and  fears, 
Its  cares  and  labors,  its  delights  and  joys. 
But  oft,  the  sorrows  and  the  cares  appear 
To  outweigh  the  joys  and  the  delights  we  find  ; 
And  we  grow  wcarv  of  the  tiresome  round 
Of  labors,  seeming  endlessly  the  same. 
Step  after  step  secures  no  new  advance ; 
No  happier  prospect  opens  with  the  dawn 
Of  the  new  dav;  vear  after  vear  glides  by. 


120  TO-DAY   AXD   TO-MORROW. 


And  leaves  us  at  the  end  as  far  removed 

From  what  we  toiled  and  labored  most  to  gain, 

As  at  the  first.     How  mean  a  thing!  sayest  thou, 

What  wretchedness  is  life !     But  think  again. 

Hast  thou  no  treasures  of  experience  gained? 

No  wisdom  from  the  lessons  of  the  year, 

Which  Providence  has  set  as  in  a  book 

Before  thee?     Hast  thou  never  raised  thy  sight 

Above  the  earth  on  which  thy  footsteps  rest; 

Nor  looked  beyond  the  narrow  lines  which  bound 

The  acres  of  thy  father's  heritage, — 

Bevond  the  horizon  of  this  mortal  sphere, 

Which  thou  must  soon  forsake?     Forsake  for  what? 

Learn,  if  thou  hast  not  learned,  that  thou  art  here 

Only  a  scholar  in  the  art  of  life  : 

The  eternal  morrow  shall  thy  freedom  be, 

Where  thou  shalt  gather  and  enjoy  the  fruit 

Of  all  thy  toil,  if  thou  hast  learned  aright. 

And  wisely  done  the  duties  of  to-day. 

But  if,  like  idle,  truant  scholars,  thou 

Hast  loitered  all  away  thy  golden  hours, 

And  played  at  hide  and  seek  with  Folly,  while 

Thou  should'st  have  companied  with  Wisdom,  what 

Reward  but  that  of  Folly  canst  thou  hope  ? 


CHARITY. 

DESCEND,  celestial  charity,  and  breathe, 
With  thy  reviving  warmth,  upon  a  world 
Ot  wretchedness  and  woe,  that  knows  thee  not. 
Wake  its  lethargic  slumberers  from  the  dreams 
That  steal  their  reason,  and  delude  their  sense 
With  selfish  fantasies  and  idle  hopes; 
Wake  them  to  see  thy  loveliness,  to  feel 
Thy  power  to  bless,  and  own  thoti  art  divine. 
Breathe,  as  the  south  wind  breathes  in  time  of  Spring, 
On  the  cold  winter  scene  that  sin   hath  made 
Of  Eden's  blooming  garden,  and  release 
From  the  stern  bondage  of  the  frost  the  streams 
That  watered  it,  and  send  them  forth  again 
I'pon  their  joyous  errand.      Lei  thy  smile 
Visit  the  desolate  and  leailess  bowers 
Of  Paradise,  and  from  the  slumbering  buds 
The  gentle  de\\'s  and  rains  of  heaven  shall   call 
The  tender  leaves,  and  bid  the  fragrant  flowers 
With  promise  of  celestial  fruit  expand. 
1 6 


CHARITY. 


Then  from  their  distant  pilgrimage  the  birds 
Shall  come,  and  build  among  the  verdant  boughs. 
And  sing  their  loves,  and  fill  the  vernal  woods 
With  hymns  of  joy  and  gladness.     Then  again 
Man  shall  return  and  dwell  there,  and  shall  see 
To  read  in  every  green  and  living  thing, 
The  name  of  Him  who  formed  it,  and  shall  hear 
In  all  the  songs,  "the  Lord  Jehovah  liveth." 


THE    TEMPTATION. 


An  imitation  or  free  translation  of  Schiller's  poem,  entitled  "Sehnsucht, 
(Longing.) 


HOW  lovely  in  the  sunlight  stand 
The  green  hills  of  the  blessed  land! 
What  heavenly  peaceful  music  strains 
Gladden  its  happy  groves  and  plains! 

O  how  refreshing  is  the  air 
That  breathes  upon  the  dwellers  there  ! 
What  fragrances  the  zephyrs  bring 
From  gardens  of  immortal  Spring! 

What  rich  balsamic  fruits  are  seen 
Glowing  amid  the  youthful  green, 


TIIK     TKMPTATIOX. 


The  freshness  of  whose  summer  hour 
Fears  no  destroying  Winter's  power! 

O  that  those  blissful  bowers  might  be 
A  shelter  and  a  home  for  me ! 
Had  I  but  wings,  those  hills  of  light 
Should  soon  arrest  my  eager  flight. 

Vain  wish !  no  wings  could  bear  thee  o'er 
The  seas  which  part  thee  from  that  shore. 
On  its  fierce  billows  thou  must  ride; 
The  beating  of  its  storms  abide. 

Yet  venture  boldlv.     They  alone 
Who  venture  life,  win  Virtue's  crown. 
She  gives  no  pledge;  no  faithless  heart 
Finds  in  her  paradise  a  part. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

PREFACE, 

A  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  LIFE, 

THE  PARABLE  OF  LOVE, 

VISIT  TO  MY  OLD  HOME, 

HEAVENLY  MINISTRATIONS. 

28 
THE  LIGHT  OF  LIFE, 

HEAVENLY  WELCOME. 

ON  THE  RIGHT  HAND, 

VIOLET  BUDS, 

HOPE, 

SONG  OF  THE  RED  LILY.  3C 

FCR  A  CLERGYMAN'S  ALBUM, 

THE  MORNING  STAR, 

THE  SEED  OF  KNOWLEDGE, 

HOPE  AND  SPRING, 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

TIME  is  MONEY,                         .  •            -  45 

THE  FOREST  TEMPLE,  -  A(> 

THE  FLOWER  GARDEN,  48 

THE  CHRISTIAN'S  GARDEN,      -  50 

THE  NEW  JERUSALEM,  52 

THE  MOURNER'S  HOPE,  -            -  53 

BUDS,  .            .  54 

THE  LEAVES  AND  THE  BLOSSOMS,  -            -            -  55 

CONSOLATION,  "            •  57 

LEARNING  AND  LIFE,  -            -  rp 

THE  OLD  ORCHARD,  62 

MY  INHERITANCE,  -  g- 

TRUE  LIFE,  67 

THE  WORSHIP  OF  LIFE,  -  68 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  SPRING,        -  -            -  72 

A  VISION  OF  HOPE,  ~            -  73 

LOVE,       -  .            .  74 

PROGRESS,  ...  *.,- 

THE  CHILD  AND  THE  SEASONS,  ...  ^ 

PARNASSUS,        -  -           .            .  »o 

THE  DEPARTED,                          -  ...  QI 

INNOCENCE,        ---...  82 

SPRING  FLOWERS,  -            -            .  '83 


CONTENTS.  Ill 

PAGE. 

THE  PRICE  OF  LOVE,     -  85 

NATURE,  86 

SUNSHINE,  87 

HOME  IN  THE  WOODS.  89 

WRITTEN  FOR  A  LADY  BY  REQUEST,  92 

NATURE  WORSHIP,  93 

YOUTH  AND  AGE,  95 

AFFLICTIONS,  BLESSINGS  IN  DISGUISE,  96 

WHAT  HAST  THOU  THOUGHT  OF  DEATH,  -                           98 

THE  MAPLE  TREE,         -  100 

BEYOND  THE  GATE.       -  103 

WHAT  HAVE  I  DONE.  104 

AUTUMN,  105 

MESSIAH,  106 

THE  WEARY  WAY,  no 

To  DR.  DEAN'S  EAGLE,  in 

THE  APPLE  TREE,  113 

CHRISTMAS  VERSES  FOR  A  NEW  CHURCH  MINISTER,             115 

SIMILITUDES,  116 

THE  WILD  FLOWERS,  118 

TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW.         -  120 

CHARITY,  121 

THE  TEMPTATION.          -             -  -                           122 


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